Anton Schulz

Lost In Time: Roman Threat / Third Reich Rises

Elektronická kniha

Lost In Time: Roman Threat / Third Reich Rises

Translation: Kristina Halagan

Graphics: Peter Sugho

Prologue

The trial took place with exclusion of public and media. The courtroom gave a strict impression. Older man about fifty in burly black robe, the main judge, was surveying the defendant rigidly, as if he wanted to peek right into his stomach. Although Beck showed calmness, as he had agreed with his advocate, inside he was smiling. He knew exactly what would follow. It cost a lot of money and connections, but it paid off. Still, he had to play this game until the end.

In his mind, he returned back to Bohemian Forest. They had been so close to inventing passing through time, but then everything had become twisted. Everything was ruined, when the annoying commissioner Rosenbach with this clown, so-called procurator Siebert, had destroyed his plans. Everything, he created, had collapsed. Peter Brezovsky – the only man, who, as they surely knew, managed travelling through time there and back, got lost somewhere in the hideaway of time. As well as his ex-adjutant and right hand Bernard Kraft. That coward, an archeologist Kühner, had also hidden who knows where. For now – he corrected himself. Nobody would escape his vengeance. After all, he was chosen by destiny to reverse the flow of time and rule the new, eternal Third Reich. He didn’t doubt for a while that this is just a little obstacle on the road. But this was no place to worry about that. He made his mind to return back to the courtroom.

Procurator Siebert was speaking passionately again. To all the attendees he mentioned crimes of Eduard Beck, and also past crimes of war criminal Sturmbannführer Rudolf Schmidt. Once again, he was naming proofs that Beck and Schmidt is one and the same person. He pointed at evidence, found during the inspection of residence of Beck und Beck Company, as well as dramatic circumstances, which led to arresting at Bohemian Forest in Czech Republic.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Honorable Court,” he added in conclusion, “there is nothing to say more. It’s crystal clear that this man is the rankest criminal. Proofs showed that he isn’t just a brutal war killer, but nowadays he is also responsible for murders, blackmails and tax fraud. According to all is this man serious and permanent threat for our society. By my best conscience and by law of this state I appeal to your moral responsibility and sense of justice. I ask for capital punishment for this man! Thank you.”

He looked around the room for the last time, then sat down, satisfied with his performance. He did his best for this case. After all, he always did. The work was his hobby. And he fully devoted to it. His personal prestige will highly rise after this trial. Yes, this is the right trial he needed.

Meanwhile Beck’s defender also started his closing speech. Again and again he questioned all facts and prosecution witnesses. Except for that he lifted the reality, that Beck und Beck Company is one of driving forces of German economics and one of the greatest employers in this region. Then he showed records about generous financial support of youth organizations and sport. As his strongest card he brought clinics for genetic research of cancer, led by doctor Diebner, which was completely financed by Beck und Beck Company. All mentioned crimes really happened, but without knowledge of Mr. Beck. Unfortunately, all strings lead to the person, whom he trusted. To the head of security service Bernard Kraft. This wicked man masterfully succeeded to cover his criminal past, as well as his connections to neo-Nazi organizations. My client feels truly sorry for that. As regards tax discrepancies, at this expansive agenda and business activities, his accountants did a mistake. In context of that, personal changes in this section have already begun. Of course, he will pay all debts and penalty immediately after unblocking his accounts and also take additional steps so this could no longer be repeated. An affair with some sturmbannführer Rudolf Schimdt, the leader of concentration camp of Auschwitz, is ridiculous. No relation between law abiding citizen Eduard Beck and war criminal Rudolf Schimdt was proven.

“I declare that this man is true hero of German society. His honest life is the proof. His only crime is faith. Faith in the wrong person. I ask to discharge him in every count. Let the justice win. Thank you.”

The Judge stood up and spoke with dignity: “The court had listened to all circumstances, connected to this case. We researched all posed evidence. Now we will depart for consultation. Decision will be announced in two hours.”

“All rise, this court is now in session,” said the bailiff.

Everybody stood up with expectation on their faces. The Judge put the folder with documents on the table, opened it and picked up the sheet of paper. He ran his eye over attendees, then he put on glasses and started to read:

“After considering all circumstances the court decided as follows: in count one, if Eduard Beck and Rudolf Schmidt are the same person, the court decided in this way: as the identity of Rudolf Schmidt was not credibly proven, but, on the contrary, the identity of Eduard Beck was proven sufficiently, he is discharged in this count of indictment.

In count two, if the defendant knew about murders committed by his adjutant Bernard Kraft, or even if he commanded him to do that, the court decided, that he did not. Absolutely discharged.

In count three, if the defendant participated in illegal support of neo-Nazi organizations, the court decided that there is no reliable evidence, which would show that. Absolutely discharged.

In count four, if there was a shortened tax on acquired resources, the court admitted that there was.

In count five, if the defendant participated in blackmailing for purpose of his business activities, the court admitted that he did. But as the actual law integrity was proven, as well as effort to supporting culture, sport and charity organizations, so the defendant is not threat for society, on contrary, he is a benefit for it. Except for that, he adequately regretted his behavior and he is ready to make amends for an incurred damage. He is sentenced to cumulative punishment for ten years in minimum security prison. He can ask for an early release from prison after six years. The court is over, the verdict will come into force in fifteen days. Till then it’s possible to bring an appeal.“

Beck offered a hand to the defender. He squeezed it warmly. Why not, he has just earned a pretty packet. His patron was very satisfied. Six years in minimum security prison instead of life term. That can be considered a great victory.

“Appeal, I will appeal!” yelled Siebert uselessly. Rage and helplessness were mixing in him and scrambling out. He hasn’t finished. Not yet.

Chapter one

“Congratulations, Mr. Beck.” Werner, his new adjutant for special business hurried to shake his hand. Everything was going according to the plan.

“Thank you, Werner, for your faith and loyalty,” he said with false cordiality. Then he added quietly: “Take care of Siebert, according to original plan. It has to be a clean job. No marks, no connections with me.” Beck gazed strictly on his employee. Werner was sure, what he wanted to say. If he fails, somebody else will take care of himself. Beck didn’t forgive mistakes. He couldn’t see any problem in it. He’s professional, this is his life. He nodded shortly and left. There was a lot of work ahead.

The public prosecutor Karl Siebert was sitting behind the computer in his workroom, writing hard an appeal against the verdict in the case Beck. No, he wouldn’t let it go. He surely knew that Eduard Beck was a war criminal sturmbannführer Rudolf Schmidt and in addition he was also a murderer, blackmailer and tax fraud. The trial had been running for a lot of months, therefore an article about it appeared in newspaper almost every day. His and Beck’s faces often appeared at the front page. It was a great commercial. He was prepared to open his own lawyer office. He had even chosen a room in the city center. If he won the case with Beck-Schimdt, he would do it. Although present verdict was a victory from certain point of view, he wanted more.

He leaned on the chair and rubbed his eyes. The raw suggestion of appeal was ready. Now he had to think it through and let it grow. But this was everything for now. Now he needed to rest from work and stress. He picked his phone up and dialed local number.

“Timea Night Club,” said tender voice from the other side.

“It’s Richter,” he introduced himself with pseudonym, he used to use during visiting the club, “I’d like to book a room for tonight. I want the usual menu. And I’d prefer Rita, if she is available.”

“Of course, Mr. Richter. Everything for you, sir. Have a nice day, we look forward to your visit.”

He hung up. Everybody has a weakness. The weakness of perfectionist, incorruptible public prosecutor Karl Siebert, were prostitutes. He could own them, do whatever he wanted, if only for a brief moment he paid for. He hated vulgar whores, walking the streets, offering their neglected bodies. He liked professionalism of all manners. His roommate introduced him to this interest during the studies. He was totally obsessed with that. And later, long time after he finished the faculty of law, he still couldn’t give up on these trips. At first he was anxious, afraid of disclosure and destroying of his image. He was looking for clubs far from his sphere of activity and he often arrived in disguise. He’s been attracted by the taste of forbidden fruit and danger more and more. It was like a drug he couldn’t and didn’t want to give up.

“Werner,” he said shortly to the phone.

“It’s Ulrike, from Timea Night Club. Mr. Richter has just booked a room for tonight. The usual, with Rita as the last time.”

“Thanks honey. We’ll deal with the payment as always.”

He hung up and dialed next number. The phone rang only two times. When he heard a voice on the other side, he just said: “It’s shopping time.”

“I see,” answered the strong female voice.

The operation was running for a long time, as the boss wanted. Right after the trial with Eduard Beck began. Nowadays they knew everything about procurator Siebert. How much he makes, what he eats, what are his plans for the future, what he wears, who he is seeing and also what his weaknesses are. This “shopping” means nothing else than that there will be one lousy slimy snake less in the world. The snake, hiding behind the law. Everybody has a weakness.

It was ten o’clock at night, when a shiny car stopped in front of the famous night club at the periphery of the city. A well-dressed man in his mid-thirties got out it. He gave his keys and a few marks to the valet. Despite the club was situated quite a long way from the city, it was prestigious and was visited by prominent guests such as businessmen and politicians.

As he walked in, he was surrounded by familiar pleasant intimate dim blue and pink light and scent of expensive perfumes. This place was well-known to him, he was regular customer for almost two years. He knew most of local girls closely. They were changing frequently, so he had no problem to choose. With a smile on his face he stepped to the receptionist.

“Good evening, Ulrike.”

“Good evening, Mr. Richter. Everything’s prepared as you asked. Except for one little inconvenience. Rita won’t be available tonight.”

“Why is that?” asked, surprised but determined not to be discouraged. Tonight he wanted absolute comfort.

“Poor thing, she was in a car crash. There was nothing doctors could have done. But don’t let it bother you.” She leaned closer and almost whispered to his ear: “We have a new blood here. Extra class. Nobody has tried her yet. She goes by Tamara. Doesn’t sound it exotic?”

“Hm,” he thought. Why not? “All right, but first I want to see her.”

“Of course. Tamara, please!” she called.

A tall slim blonde girl came off the bar. She had short hair, with a little make-up on her face. Although she wasn’t dressed that provocatively like other girls, there was something very attractive about her. While she was coming towards them, he felt his erection rising. Looking at her made him nervous. There was a coolness emanating from her. He has been noticing something like that in a courtroom every day. A lot of serial murderers had given off similar scent of death. When she gazed at him, he felt cold and scorching excitement at the same time. He’s got to get her, no matter what.

“I’ll take her,” barely got out of his dry throat.

They sat down next to the bar. He ordered gin with tonic and lemon. For a while he a thought that he had felt a sweetish taste of the drink, but then let it go.

He ripped his clothes off quickly. He had never had so strong erection. He wanted her, needed her. In the room they had one more drink. Then the erection was already accompanied by pain. At first it was weak then started strengthening until it engulfed the entire area of pelvis. At the same time it seemed his heart was missing. He wanted to say something funny. Suddenly the fear captured him. His father had died of heart disease as a pretty young man. He inhaled heavily. “Doctor!”

She was looking at him without any interest. Like she was waiting what would follow. There were no emotions in her eyes.

“Please.” He was almost in tears. He barely could move. He was writhing in death throes.

“Are you done yet?” she asked coldly.

Just then he has finally understood. He wouldn’t escape from this room alive. It was a trap.

“Bitch,” he breathed out for the last time and fell unconscious.

Walter Rosenbach, retired police commissioner, was sitting in a trashy bar and sipping a beer. He was reflecting his screwed-up life. The relationship with his colleague Helga had endured for only a while. At first he was planning to retire after Beck would be in the prison and enjoy his free time with Helga. He would pursue his hobbies and manage to do all things, which he’d had no time for. But the police life had influenced him more, than he could accept. He just couldn’t live in a normal society. A few months of their common life later his personal daemons has started to crawl out of him. He’s been unsatisfied, missed the eternal fight against the crime, which he loved and hated. He’s started to be mean to Helga. Finally she’d let him choose. Either he’d find a balance in his life, or she’d leave. They had broken up and he has drowned problems in alcohol since then. In the end he’s found a job of night watchman in the factory. It wasn’t about money, he had a descent pension. He wanted to know he’s not useless. He’s been wearing uniform and carrying a gun again, but never gave up alcohol. Which meant that his company consisted of similar looser like himself.

The former colleague from Homicide Department came to his table and sat down.

“Hello, Walter. Have you read the news today?”

“For what?” he asked with frustrated voice.

“Isn’t it that young prosecutor?”

“Show me,” said carelessly.

When he saw the face of prosecutor Karl Siebert at the front page, immediately started focus and went on attentive reading.

Death in the brothel

The successful public prosecutor Karl Siebert, known as the relentless fighter with crime and rights defender, was found dead in the exclusive Timea Night Club. According to local staff he was a regular customer. An anonymous source declared that the prosecutor had had the mania for unusual and condemnable sexual practices. It’s confusing that the man, chasing moral lapses, has done some, too. We will never find out, what else this man had been hiding. According to preliminary autopsy report the cause of death was heart failure due to overdose with erection medication. In his flat, de facto acquired thanks to money of tax-payers, was found a lot of porn magazines, sex toys and narcotics.

The article was accompanied by pompous photographs of dead body in the canopy bed and red bedding. As the opposite there was a little photo of Siebert with his basic posture in a courtroom. It created a striking contrast.

On the page three there was much shorter article, announcing that Eduard Beck has been sentenced for tax evasion for ten years in minimum security prison and he would be released most likely after six years. There were also comments of people, whom he had helped and insulting opinions about the prosecutor.

“Dead men don’t talk,” mumbled Rosenbach.

A great epitaph for young lawyer. And Schimdt, the Nazi bastard, would be released in six years. Clear in front of the law. He would suffer the penalty honestly, certainly. And then he could go on with his filthy practices. He had no doubt that even in prison he wasn’t treated like other ordinary criminals.

Despite he was just about to leave, ordered additional double Schnaps and then he walked away. On his way home he bought a few cans of beer and the bottle of cheap alcohol. Tonight he would indulge in self-pity again.

“I really appreciate what you did for Germany and for all of us, Mr. Beck,” said the prison guard. He was an elderly man, waiting to be retired. Grey, short hair was sticking on his sweaty forehead. It was hot in here and his excess weight started to disturb him in his work. There was only one year left until his retirement. He was looking forward to the free time with his grandchildren, fishing and pursuing his hobbies. He was keen philatelist.

“Yes?” Beck looked up from his financial reports. He has been here only a few days, but conditions seemed to be endurable. He had even been allowed to read daily news another day. He had also a telephone with fax. Everything thanks to bribing the right persons. In fact he could do anything he wanted. Well, he couldn’t leave, of course.

“What’s your name?” he asked the guard with friendly voice.

“Herbert Krauss. But please, call me Herbert. I appreciate you as a great man. And after everything, what has been written about the scabby prosecutor, I believe that you are innocent,” said honestly.

“Dear Herbert, nobody is blameless. It depends on point of view. From point of view of this system I am guilty. But is this system fair?”

He looked into his eyes. He saw that the men is listening carefully.

“Let’s take you, for example. You’re going to retire in a while. For your livelong and undoubtedly honest service you’ll receive a couple marks – or a couple Euros, if they would go on with this filth, called European Union. Germany wouldn’t be independent it would be the servant of the Slavonic garbage. Do you want this? Does Germany want this?”

When Krauss shook his head, Beck went on, “By contrast, I can offer you more. I can offer more to each real German. Think about it.”

They were talking until the evening. At the end he had a convinced accomplice in Krauss. He would do everything for him, even killed. It wasn’t coincidence that Krauss was referred to his guard. It was a long time ago he had got everybody in jail checked up and he knew Krauss would be easily influenced if needed to. Although he was planning to serve full six years and go on with his activities from prison, but he had the escape plan prepared, just in case they would move faster than scheduled.

Werner has just been finishing his speech to instruct four youngsters. Despite they looked like mere hooligans in their leather vests and shaved heads, they passed through tough training. They were more than able to fight with firearms, but also with bare hands. They were in a room used for similar purposes. The room didn’t have windows and was totally soundproof.

“Our boss wants to look like vandalism, when delinquents are surprised by the watchman. It means no firearms. But you should know he is a former cop. So be careful.”

He ran the eye over all of them. Their faces were burning with eagerness.

“Everything’s clear?” he asked one more time.

“Yes,” they answered at once.

“Go,” he commanded, “and don’t forget, I don’t forgive failure.”

When they left, he added for himself quietly, “So doesn’t Beck.”

Bored Walter Rosenbach was listening to little radio. Empty beer cans were building up at his table. It seemed any moment they’re going to fall down from messy table. He would clean it up in the morning, nobody was checking him either way. It seemed he hadn’t to be here, only as decoration. Or because of insurance company.

It was absolutely dead at night. Not even a stir. Hard night silence was interrupted only by monotonous clicking of standpipes and murmur of his radio. He would take a regular patrol over the factory in an hour. It wasn’t so necessary or even needful, but his subconscious was revolting against total passivity. The circuit took only thirty minutes and the rest of his service he was staying in this overheated office, napping behind the table, encouraged by alcohol.

He was indifferently walking through dark silent halls of factory. The light of strong flashlight was jumping through motionless machines. Alcohol had made him numb, but only partially. It had been a part of his life for long years, just like an old friend. He’s been drinking automatically, barely feeling it. Or at least he’s been convincing himself. Then his attention was grabbed by the door of central storage of products ready to export. It shouldn’t be opened.

“Damn,” he swore silently.

Something was wrong. It had never happened to him since he worked here. His mind immediately cleared up. He pricked up his ears. Really, he detected a faint noise behind the door. He noiselessly undid the button on his holster. He wore automatic Berreta, caliber seven sixty-five. While turning flashlight off he waited until his eyes would accustom to dawn. Then he approached the door carefully. He stood up at the right side. He leaned against the doorframe and looked in.

Three young men with iron bars were just force-opening the container of finished products. Next two were already opened and rifled. Some of smashed up boxes were lying on the floor, electronic components everywhere.

“I wouldn’t do that, monkeys,” called at vandals with threatening voice.

They glanced at him contemptuously. Obviously they had a low opinion about him, they even didn’t try to stop. Like he wasn’t there either.

“Enough!” he yelled, “Stop it!”

Now they finally paid him an attention. One of them, probably the leader of the group, came closer to him. He was smiling provocatively, spinning with bar in his hand.

“Come on, grandpa. You’ve already drank out your night quota of beers. Now show us, how old police dog barks.”

Rosenbach winced. Not because it has insulted him, or because it was something serious. Just a silly tease speech. But something was wrong here. The dummy was too specific to be coincidence. His quota of beers, old police dog. He reached for the switch. Strong light filled the room. He blinked.

“Look out, he’s a gun!” yelled one of youngsters.

He panicked and tried to pull out his own gun from behind the belt. Old cop didn’t need more. He instinctively dragged his own Barretta out the holster and shot two fast bullets. The young man fell down just on the halfway of movement. His white shirt with an inscription started to color in red. Two remaining guys rushed to him. He changed his firing angle and neutralized both of them. He didn’t mind motionless bodies for now and started to check the rest of the room. Thousands of thoughts were still running through his mind and tried to crawl out. His police brain, used to combine data, was warning him. Old police dog, old police dog, old police dog… Suddenly everything made sense. It wasn’t about a few broken boxes. It wasn’t coincidence they came here just during his service. They came for him. But who commanded it? And why? He made couple of enemies during his career. Some of them have already been released from the prison. This wasn’t style of any of them. They’d have simply killed him, without this theatre.

A tall figure stepped from behind the container. Before he was able to react in any way, the iron bar of that son of a bitch filled his field of view. Terrible hit in the head immediately sent Rosenbach down to the ground. Others hits started to rain down on him with intensity of hailstorm. He knew he’s just reached the final destination. It’s over.

Helga, Helga… It was his last though before his brain turned off and his soul left to the place, where it would find the peace.

Werner was waiting impatiently in basement. It was hired by a subsidiary company, where Beck und Beck Company had ninety percent of stakes. After soundproofing it, it was not used only as a meeting place, but also training ground and shooting range as well. Beck’s had more places like that, after all. Although he was in jail, his former activities kept going on. Some of them were even running to a larger extent than before. Instead of the boss it was managed by people, who he chose. Like himself. He’s been working for Beck for almost four years.

Originally he was brought to this business by Bernard Kraft. By the way, where had he vanished?

He pulled out the cigarette and lit it. Where are they? They were five minutes late. He didn’t like it.

The door opened. An armed guard in black uniform entered, accompanied by one youngster, who was sent into action.

“Where were you, man?” he growled at the boy, “How did the it go?”

“According to the plan. Until Curly Guy hasn’t pulled out the gun. Then everything’s got out of hand,” he was explaining with trembling voice. “The bastard has wiped them out. He was surprisingly fast. Then I finished him. He’s dead.”

Now Werner noticed that the young hooligan was covered in blood. His eyes were wildly running through the room. Obviously he was still in shock and out of nerves. Stupid guys, they simply let an old drunk to massacre them. He stayed calm. Despite his blood was boiling, he looked at the boy peacefully.

“He is dead, right? Ok, take a break for some time. I said no firearms. Has you taken Curly Guy’s pistol?” asked in passing.

It was necessary to look like an accident. No connection, not only the smallest one, to Eduard Beck was asked. Eduard Beck, the hero of German Economics, like he was named in newspaper since the rat prosecutor Karl Siebert has died. And he’d keep it in that way. Boss trusted him. He wouldn’t fail him. Of course, some bribes together with promises and threats were needful, but it paid off. Successor to Siebert has understood, what is expected of him, very quickly. He hadn’t given the appeal against the verdict, which had been defended so passionately by his predecessor. He was rather satisfied with certain bribe, because he’s understood what terrible accident might happen to him.

“Yes, here it is.” The boy’s voice interrupted his thoughts. Encouraged by the praise he was handing the gun to him.

Werner took it carefully. It was a little automatic gun. He checked the magazine. Full. He inserted it in with a gentle click and pulled the trigger. Then, like he hasn’t even thought about it, he aimed at the unsuspecting boy and shot right into his forehead. Bernard’s school. Nowadays everybody was wearing a bulletproof vest, from filthy cops to frightened financial analytics. But blow to head was certain like a word of God. Amen.

“Take care of the body,” he commanded to the guard thoughtfully.

Around the time, when the retired police commissioner Walter Rosenbach was identified in a morgue by his ex-colleagues, Albert Kühner was returning home from the work. Wounds, caused by Kraft in Bohemian Forest, have already healed, but he was still addicted to painkillers. When he had woken up in a hospital in Czech Republic, he’d returned to Germany immediately. He’d decided to change his life. He’d moved far from his hometown, to a little town in the north. Here he’d found a job in a local museum. It was a dull and boring work. His only consolation was piles of document he could study.

He’s been trying to erase incidents in Bohemian Forest from his mind. It’d been a miracle that he, with a lot of bullets in his body, had appeared in operating room of traumatology, tens of miles far from his original position. At the last minute. They’d saved his life. Then he learned about Eduard Beck’s trial. He didn’t doubt that if Beck’s known he’s alive, he would immediately commanded to polish him off as uncomfortable witness. Because of that he’d been waiting with paying out Beck’s cheques, gotten as a reward for working for him, until he’d be in a prison.

He put his key in the lock, unlocked and came in. With tired gasp he put the little briefcase down on the low shoe cabinet. He hung up his coat, put on warm, soft, comfortable slippers. With another gasp he came into little living room. According to his habit, he turned on television. He pulled the cigarette out the packet and was going to light it, when funny smell stuck in his nose. Gas! He quickly threw the cigarette away and hurried to kitchen.

When he entered the room, his head spun. Buttons of the gas oven were fully up. He started to feel dizzy. Suddenly he couldn’t remember, if he turned it on or not. He turned on his heel and ran towards the front door. Closed. He grabbed the handle and yanked it. Stuck. What does it mean? Fuck, fuck, fucking door! Panic captured him.

“Help, HEELP!” he started to yell.

He ran towards the window. But he realized that he couldn’t go through it. He’s lived on the ground floor, all windows were barred. All he could do was to break window to reduce concentration of explosive gas in the room a little. But it wasn’t solution, gas could explode any second.

“Help, help me. For God’s sake, HELP ME!” He was yelling until his voice failed from exhaustion.

Suddenly the phone rang. He ran to it, picked it up and started to gibber desperately, “Help, help me! It’s Kühner, gas is leaking! Door is stuck. Help!”

He couldn’t say anything else. He was just staring ahead. There was silence in the receiver. Then the caller said only one sentence, “Beck doesn’t forget.”

Telephone clicked. Only monotonous tone remained.

Beck. How, the hell, has he found him here? The cheques, stupid cheques! All of this, together with a lot of swearwords, has run through his mind in a long second. In another second, gas accumulated in the apartment had exploded. Firestorm broke down windows in several others flats, too. Kühner’s apartment was engulfed in fire, fire tongues were crawling out windows.

Albert Kühner lied under rubble of furniture, plaster and concrete pieces. The huge explosion threw him into the corner of the room. He lied there, with his feet stuck under something heavy. He knew he had no chance. Half passed out he was watching fire spreading towards him. Broken and burnt body was screaming from pain. But no voice came from his throat. He couldn’t breathe, only coughed shallowly. One minute later rubble on his body ignited. All his life flashed before his eyes. Like in the movie, he saw himself as a child, at school, at work. And lying here. Then Beck’s disgusting dark face filled his mind. Last furious thought grow in his head.

“See you in hell, motherfucker!”

Chapter two

March 2002, Germany

Eduard Beck was standing next to the window of his office, looking out at the city. He was unsatisfied. Each partial success could saturate him only for a short moment. He’d lost six years. Six long years in a prison. He’s been going on with his activities, but much more carefully than before. He’s been entrusting every job to cautiously chosen and verified people. No links have been leading to him. He has markedly restricted support of young neo-Nazis. They’ve had no meaning for him anymore. Forward, there was no other destination. The most important work has still been waiting for him. To find and use Time Gate. To join Hitler and resurrect the Third Reich by his side. He couldn’t entrust it to anybody else, only to himself. He’d sold out a big part of his financial empire quite fast. This was the last time he was in this room. Since tomorrow it would be the property of American-Canadian Atlantis Corporation, which has planned to reach European financial market.

He had no qualms about selling German company to Americans. It was just one of many steps to achieve a lofty goal. He wouldn’t even mind to sell company to Russians. The end justifies the means. If he managed to succeed, everything would be different. Not if! When he managed to succeed. Nothing else had a meaning for him, nothing was more important. The destiny of mankind was in his hands. All he has to do was to reach out and touch it. Under the mankind he thought German nation, of course. They would rule the world. They’d build great buildings and monuments for him. He’d resurrect the Third Reich, much larger like Hitler had imagined it. But he has to find that damn Time Gate. He couldn’t do anything without it. He’s been so close and now he’s at the beginning again. It doesn’t matter. With Time Gate he would have all time in the world.

Author was born in 1979. He has been voracious reader since childhood. As he aged, his interests weren’t uniform. He was absorbed by adventure stories, through detective and history books, to science fiction. Especially time travelling. Author believes time traveling offers infinite array of options, specifically travelling to the past. In that manner, confrontation between man of modern times with all his knowledge of the world and life in past is created, where the saying “life’s struggle” is literal.

Lost In Time: Roman Threat / Third Reich Rises

Translation: Kristina Halagan

Graphics: Peter Sugho

E-book created by Dibuk, s. r. o., 2015

Created by Publico.sk

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter one

Chapter two