“It is with great honor that the President of the United States awards to you the Navy Cross for uncommon valor against overwhelming enemy forces...”
Max looked curiously around the small British Naval hospital conference room, which had all its furniture shoved against the walls. He was able to stand now, and was gradually healing from the injuries he had suffered three weeks ago in the Swiss Alps. His gunshot wounds were now small scars; his face, which had swollen beyond recognition, was now just purple and red under his eyes. His broken nose was still taped and would require one more surgery before it would look normal again. Worst of all was the fractured leg that the doctors said would have needed to be amputated if it had not had the titanium plates surrounding the bones that held it together.
“…and then willingly sacrificed himself for his unit when he...”
Max leaned on the antique climbing pick ax cane that his grandfather had bought for him in Paris earlier in the week. He looked at Val, who stood beside him receiving the award the admiral had just pinned on his own chest a minute ago. Val looked good. At the end of the day, they all looked good, except him. The fact that Max had had the yoke in front of him, and his face continuously slammed into it as the ’Giro flipped and rolled, made him the worst-looking of the bunch.
“It is with great honor that I have been chosen to hand deliver these awards.”
The admiral had finished pinning Val and stepped back from the group. He was addressing them all. Max didn’t care, though. He just wanted out of the hospital. He wanted to go see Solange and comfort her, but he knew he couldn’t.
Ditter.... When Max heard, he’d cried. Even though he had known him just a few days, they had become friends. Solange took it the hardest. She’d lost her grandfather, but gained a granduncle, who happened to be a few years older than her. She was confused. In fact, everyone was confused. She didn’t know whether to be happy for Otto and Eva—they themselves were having a difficult time coming to grips with the reality of the situation—or sad for her grandmere. She even asked for Max to stay away for a while. Max knew the reality. Whatever connection they had had been erased that fateful night three weeks ago.
Max did have one thing to look forward to—his grandfather. Dean had spent every day he could next to Max’s bedside. It was proving hard for Dean to adjust to the 21st century. The thing he complained about most was the way the world moved so fast. Max figured that he would be having a hard time because all that he knew, and everyone he loved, were now gone. But he had Max, and they were going to make the best of it. As soon as Max was released he was heading back to the United States with him.
Collins reacted much the same way Dean had, but funny enough, at the end of the day, they both thought it right to stay with the Marines. The U.S. government, on the other hand, was harder to convince, but after two weeks the interrogators went away. In their place a Pentagon Army general named West stepped in and cleared them all. The general took good care of all of them. They all got what they wanted in return for their silence. The fact that West had approved for Dean and Collins to collect over 60 years of pay was also a nice bonus.
The admiral was wrapping up his speech when General West, who was standing silently in the corner, locked eyes with Max. Max didn’t much like the man, even less so when the general had picked his grandfather to be second-in-command of the Phoenix Project research and development team, in conjunction with the Swiss and Austrian governments. The general was to be the head of the project, overseeing every aspect. Dean had convinced Max that, since he was now a full-blown colonel, things would be fine.
The general gave Max one last penetrating stare, then spoke to his adjutant. “Lieutenant, get the car ready,” West said as he looked at the four men in front of him. He thought about how close he had come to failure and eventual death, but his quick thinking had kept Omega happy at the end.
The mercenary team he’d sent in had failed part of their mission, but had gathered all the intelligence necessary to give West the ammunition he needed to survive. He had brilliantly cleaned up the mess, leaving no trace of the team’s existence. The Sarin gas had been his saving grace. Because of the leak, he’d had no use for the Army Rangers. A HAZMAT team had been sent to the site. The fact that it took them hours to arrive gave him all the time in the world to complete the mission.
They did manage to download critical information from the computer banks before setting off the electromagnetic pulse bomb that erased all files and data pertaining to the machine. He knew that eventually the joint taskforce would reverse-engineer a way into the inner workings of the machine, but he had given Omega a head start. The electrical booster technology alone was enough to guarantee a payday. His actions—or inactions, to be precise—would give Omega enough of a head start to make the proper arrangements at the patent offices to lock in the potential money-making devices that would one day allow the human race abilities beyond imagination.
West was desperate not to lose his life. He began pulling all his favors to get the head position of the project, and once that was done, Omega had backed off. They now knew that he controlled the project from every angle, and Omega could use that for the benefit of slowing the government research even more, if needed.
West was now satisfied, but he knew that he would have to keep an eye out for Commander Vittoria and newly promoted Commander Max DuMonde. Maybe he could use them on his team. He would have to keep that option open. In any case, if anything were to happen and he needed their help, he could always use his ultimate bargaining chip—Max DuMonde’s grandfather.
Max stood proudly at attention and saluted the admiral before they exited the room. A few minutes later Max, Val, Dean, and Collins stood outside in a small adjacent room, shaking hands and talking about their assignments. Val looked at Max and finally asked him the question on everyone’s mind.
“What are you going to do now that you’re retired?” Val paused. “Shit man, I still can’t believe it,” he finished. Val was the first person Max told and was still in disbelief as to his decision.
“Well, not fully retired. I am still in the reserves. Besides, this body can’t take any more punishment.”
“Really, Max…what the hell are you going to do in the civilian world?” Val persisted.
“Who knows? Maybe I’ll take on an instructors job at the SEALs just for kicks…if I get too bored. I did promise Pierre I’d help him recover the ’Giro from the mountain valley this summer.”
“He’s still pissed, huh?”
“Not so much now, but yes.”
“Um, maybe you’ll find you-know-who’s body out there.”
“Yeah, maybe. Anyway...” Max turned to Dean, changing the conversation. “So, you will be in charge at Meckler Castle?”
“Well, I have to keep busy.” Dean smiled, knowing that everyone he knew and loved was now dead. Taking the job was an easy choice; it kept him busy and away from the realities of the outside world.
“I’ll give you a call before I arrive with Pierre; that way you can give me a tour of the castle in peace and quiet.”
“No worries, son. Take it easy and recoup. I’ll see you in two weeks.” He paused and looked down at his leather briefcase. “But before I leave, I have something for you.” He put the briefcase on a chair and opened it, took out a scratched-up wood box, and handed it over to Max. “Took me a few days to find a box for it, but it is of the same decade.”
Max lifted the worn-out wooden box. Nestled neatly in its own velvet compartment was Dean’s 1875 Schofield revolver. Max looked up in surprise.
“This revolver was given to me by my father, James, your great-grandfather. It belonged to Jake DuMonde, his brother. It has been passed down through generations, and has become a sort of good luck charm in the family. It originally came with the triple rifle you carried, which was lost in the crash. So please try to find it and bring them back together. Anyway, like my father did for me, I now pass it on to you.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Just take care of it and keep it close. You never know when you are going to need some luck.” Dean stuck his hand out and shook Max’s hand. “Val, Collins, I’ll see you two around.” Dean turned and left.
The three of them stared at the gun. It was Collins who spoke first. “That gun has had a very interesting life. For one, it saved my ass in Italy. I’ll tell you about it some time. Right now I need to catch the train north. Seems that I have quite a few of my kin running around. Then I need to take some time to figure out this world. Once I get bored with learning, I’m off to San Diego. Going to give the SEALs a run.”
“Watch out for Waxal at SEAL training,” Max said.
“Will do, Commander.”
“Yeah, watch your fucking mouth, as well. When you graduate give me a call. You will always have a spot on my team,” Val said.
“Aye-aye, Commander,” Collins said with a crisp salute.
They all shook hands. Max and Val watched Collins walk away.
They stood in silence, each reflecting on the past few weeks.
“Well, let’s go. You owe me a beer,” Max said, breaking the silence.
“I owe you a beer? I don’t fucking think so!”
They walked down the hall and got louder the closer they got to the exit.
“Do I have to remind you how many times I saved your life?”
“Oh, you have to be kidding me. Do you honestly want to go there?”
The automatic doors opened to reveal a gloomy English day. Max put his arm around Val’s shoulder and leaned on him as his friend helped him down the steps.
The wet, brown mop danced its way back and forth on the cheap linoleum floor. All around, the sounds of the desperate and ill echoed through the halls. It was late in the day and the new shift was about to come through. The custodian looked at his watch as the lock on the outside security gate buzzed open for the fresh meat of the new semester.
They were all new students from the sound of their fancy, hard shoes tap dancing on the floor as they made their rounds. He knew that eventually all the new students would trade their expensive designer shoes for the more practical and comfortable sneakers that the veteran staff wore.
He studied them carefully. One of them would have to do, but which one? It was all a waiting game now. He would study their routine. He would watch their mannerisms. One would show his or her weakness, and then he would act…but for now he had to wait.
It had to be timed perfectly. It had to look and feel normal for it to happen without suspicion. The plan was perfect; all he needed was the last element, and it was somewhere among the crowd of new students.
“The workload will be very tiring for you new students, but you will learn to adapt. This is Ward C. We take special precautions to make sure every individual is taken care of to the best of our abilities,” Dr. Winecot, head of the psychiatric department, said flatly. “There are many rules and regulations. I expect them to be followed to the letter.”
The group shuffled forward.
Dr. Winecot continued. “We have the best record in the European Union and have not had an incident here within the last five years. Although prior to that, a first-year student was brutally raped and dismembered.”
Winecot looked around as if to find the right door.
“Now that I have your attention, we will look into the more dangerous patients on this floor. Most are a danger to others, some to themselves. For example, patient 34257.”
Winecot walked up to the clipboard-sized window and peered in.
“Patient 34257 is a very peculiar case of delusional disorder. The patient can be very violent, so we keep him sedated most of the time. We have all tried to reach him, but he is too far gone. That said, we consider him a challenge for any of you students.”
“What is his delusion?” asked a small brunette as she approached the door.
“He was brought to us two months ago after being found wandering in the Alps. We think that he lived in a mountain cabin. Nobody in the area in which he was found knew him. He is in his late 50s, and is suffering from the beginning stages of Huntington’s disease. He has been medicated to alleviate the tremors and mental instabilities. The biggest hurdle that we are facing is his persona delusion. The man claims he is Adolf Hitler. Although he does bear some sort of resemblance, he can’t seem to get around the fact that if he were indeed Adolf Hitler, he would be over 120 years old.”
A few of the students laughed.
“Doctor, how do we get permission to evaluate and study patient 34257?”
“And you are?”
“Miss Monserrat,” she said as she stood up on her tiptoes to peer through the window.
Inside the room was a man curled up on a plastic mattress. He had short-cropped hair and a week-old beard.
“Miss Monserrat, you can contact me tomorrow after rounds. I will make the necessary arrangements if you are up to the challenge of handling Adolf, along with your other patient load. Let’s move on, shall we? Custodian…? Yes, you. You are new here, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, this is the time I do my rounds and I would greatly appreciate it if you could wipe the floors after I am finished.”
“That can be arranged, Doctor.”
“Thank you. And what is your name?”
“Hermann. Hermann Wehr.”