Lost in Time

Roman Threat – Third Reich Rises

Anton Schulz

Also by Anton Schulz

Lost in Time:

Circles of Time – Warriors of the Swastika

Published in Australia by Aurora House
This edition published 2016

Copyright © Anton Schulz, 2016

Typesetting: Sri Krishna I-Tech and Management Solutions
Cover design: Working Type Studio
Graphics: Peter Sugho
Translation: Kristina Halagan

The right of Anton Schulz to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

National Library of Australia CiP
Creator: Schultz, Anton, author.

Title: Lost in time : Roman threat / Third Reich rises / Anton Schulz.

ISBN: 9780994435347 (paperback)

Subjects: Time travel--Fiction
Rome--History--Fiction.
Germany--History--1933-1945--Fiction.

Dewey Number: A823.4

To my wife and daughters.
They are forever my life inspiration.

My thanks to Linda Lycett for all the hours of work she has put into this book.

Special thanks goes to my friend Marian Socha for his support and help in enabling me to publish this story.

Contents

Introduction

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Epilogue

Introduction

Peter was on a Sunday bushwalking outing when the weather changed. A storm was brewing, then it broke. Looking for shelter from the storm he stumbled on a cave. Inside the cave he found a wall full of blue and red crystals. Thousands of them. They were dark and not active but he could still feel a slight vibration from them. When he reached out a hand to touch them, the vibration became stronger.

Suddenly, the crystals came to life and started to gently pulsate and glow. He touched the crystals. The air filled with crackling static and a blue spark jumped between his finger and the crystals. The universal energy flowed into him and he felt at peace – then everything disappeared…

Peter had found the Time Gate.

He awoke in the same valley where he was bushwalking, but did not know what had happened or that he had accidently been transported back in time. When he was found by Else and Tork, he soon realised he was in another time, and that he had to learn fast how to survive in a different world, one that was archaic and violent.

Peter lived in the deep past until the time came for him to return to his own time, the twentieth century – to save the world from becoming a Nazi planet…

Prologue

The trial took place with exclusion of the public and media. The courtroom gave a somber impression. The judge, an older man about fifty and dressed in a burly black robe, was surveying the defendant, as if he wanted to look right inside him.

Beck showed calmness, as he had agreed with his lawyer; inside he was smiling. He knew exactly what would follow. It had cost a lot of money and connections, but it had paid off. Still, he had to play this game until the end.

In his mind, Beck returned to the events of the Bohemian Forest. They had been so close to passing through time, but then everything had become twisted. Everything was ruined. Commissioner Rosenbach with this clown, so-called procurator Siebert, had destroyed his plans. Everything he’d created collapsed. Peter Brezovsky – the only man who, as they surely knew, had managed to travel through time there and got lost somewhere along the way on his last journey. His ex-adjutant and right-hand man, Bernard Kraft, was also missing. That coward, 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 moment that this was just a small obstacle along the road. But this was no place to worry about that.

His mind returned to the courtroom.

The prosecutor, Procurator Siebert, was speaking passionately again. Addressing the court, he mentioned the crimes of Eduard Beck, and also past crimes of war criminal Sturmbannführer Rudolf Schmidt. Once again, he was trying to prove that Beck and Schmidt were one and the same person. He pointed at evidence found during the search of Beck und Beck Company, as well as the dramatic circumstances that had led to his arrest in the Bohemian Forest in the Czech Republic.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Honorable Court,” he added in conclusion, “there is nothing more to say. It’s crystal clear that this man is a criminal of the highest order. Evidence shows that he isn’t just a brutal war criminal, but is also responsible for murder, blackmail and tax fraud. Accordingly, this man is a serious and permanent threat to our society. By my 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 had done his best for this case. After all, he always did. The work was his hobby. And he was fully devoted to it. His personal prestige would rise tremendously after this trial. Yes, this was indeed the right trial.

Meanwhile, Beck’s defender started his closing speech. Again and again, he questioned all facts and prosecution witness statements. He attempted to lift the reality, that Beck und Beck Company was one of driving forces of the German economy and one of the greatest employers in the region. Then he showed records about generous financial support of youth organizations and sport. As his strongest card, he brought in the genetic research of cancer, led by Herr Dr Diebner, which was completely financed by Beck und Beck Company. All mentioned crimes did happen, but without Mr. Beck’s knowledge. Unfortunately, all roads led to a person he trusted – the head of security services Bernard Kraft. This man masterfully succeeded in covering his criminal past, as well as his connections to neo-Nazi organizations.

“My client feels truly sorry for that. With regard to tax discrepancies, with the company’s expansive agenda and business activities, his accountants did make a mistake. In that context, changes in this section have already begun. Of course he will pay all debts and penalties immediately after unblocking his accounts, and take additional steps so this cannot be repeated. An association with Sturmbannführer Rudolf Schmidt, the Commandant of the concentration camp in Auschwitz, is ridiculous. No relation between law-abiding citizen Eduard Beck and war criminal Rudolf Schmidt was proven.”

“I declare that this man is a 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 on every count. Let justice be done. Thank you.”

The Judge stood and spoke with dignity.

“The court has listened to all circumstances connected to this case. We researched all posed evidence. Now we will depart for consultation. The verdict will be announced in two hours.”

“All rise. This court is now in session,” announced the bailiff.

Everyone stood, expectation on their faces. The Judge placed the folder full of documents on the bench, opened it and picked up a sheet of paper. He ran his eye over the court, then he put on glasses and started to read:

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

“On count two, if the defendant knew about the murders committed by his adjutant Bernard Kraft, or even if he commanded him to commit such acts, the court decided he did not. Absolutely discharged.”

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

“On count four, if there was an inadequate tax on acquired resources, the court stated that there was.”

“On count five, if the defendant participated in blackmail for the purpose of his business activities, the court admitted that he did. But as the defendant’s integrity was proven, as well as the effort to support culture, sport and charity organizations, the defendant is no threat to society. On the contrary, he is a benefit. He adequately regretted his behavior and he is ready to make amends for any incurred damage. He is therefore sentenced to a cumulative punishment of ten years in a minimum-security prison. He can apply for an early release from prison after six years. The court is ended. The verdict will come into force in fifteen days. Until then, it is possible to appeal.”

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

“Appeal, I will appeal!” yelled Siebert uselessly. He had expected all indictments to be completely discharged. Rage and helplessness flooded his emotions. He hadn’t finished. Not yet!

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,” Beck said with false cordiality. Then he added quietly, “Take care of Siebert, according to the original plan. It has to be a clean job. No marks, no connection with me.” Beck looked sternly at his employee.

Werner knew what he was saying. If he failed, someone would take care of him too. Beck did not forgive mistakes. He couldn’t see any problem; he was a professional, this was 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 office, writing an appeal against the verdict in the Beck case. No, he wouldn’t let it go! He surely knew Eduard Beck was the war criminal Sturmbannführer Rudolf Schmidt, and in addition he was a murderer, blackmailer and tax fraud. The trial had been running for many months, with an article appearing in the newspaper almost every day. His and Beck’s faces often appeared on the front page. It was great advertising. He was preparing to open his own law office and had even chosen a room in the city center. If he won the case with Beck/Schmidt, he would do it. Although the present verdict was a victory from a certain point of view, he wanted more.

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

“Timea Night Club,” said a gentle voice at the other end.

“It’s Richter.” He introduced himself with the pseudonym he used for his visits to 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. Everyone has a weakness. The weakness of perfectionist, incorruptible public prosecutor Karl Siebert, was prostitutes. He could own them, do whatever he wanted, if only for the brief time he paid for. He hated vulgar whores, walking the streets, offering their neglected bodies. He liked professionalism in all matters. His roommate had introduced him to prostitution during university. He became totally obsessed and later, a long time after he finished the faculty of law, he still couldn’t give up those trips. At first he was anxious, afraid of disclosure and destroying his image. He looked for clubs far from his sphere of activity and often arrived in disguise. He was 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 into the phone.

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

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

He hung up and dialed another number. The phone rang only twice when he heard a voice answer. He just said, “It’s shopping time.”

“I see,” answered the strong female voice.

The operation had been running since the beginning of the trial with Eduard Beck, as the boss wanted. They knew everything about procurator Siebert. How much he made, what he ate, what his plans were for the future, what he wore, who he was seeing and also what his weaknesses were. This ‘shopping’ means there will be one less lousy slimy snake in the world, thought Werner. The snake, hiding behind the law. Everybody has a weakness.

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

As he walked in, he was surrounded by the familiar and pleasant, intimate dim blue and pink light and the scent of expensive perfume. This place was well known to him; he had been a regular customer for almost two years. He knew most of the local girls well and although they changed frequently, he had no problem choosing his favorite. With a smile on his face, he approached 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?” he 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 new blood tonight. Extra class. Nobody has tried her yet. She goes by the name of Tamara. Doesn’t it sound exotic?”

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

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

A tall slim blond girl came over from the bar. She had short hair, with a little make-up on her face. Although she wasn’t dressed as provocatively as the other girls, there was something very attractive about her. As she was coming towards them, he felt his erection rising. Looking at her made him nervous. There was a coolness emanating from her. He often noticed something similar in a courtroom. Many serial murderers give off a similar scent of death. When she gazed at him, he felt cold and scorching excitement at the same time. He had to have 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. He gulped his drink down – for some reason he felt nervous tonight.

In the room, he quickly ripped off his clothes. He had never had such a strong erection. He wanted her, needed her. They had one more drink. Then the erection was accompanied by pain. At first it was weak, then started strengthening until it engulfed the entire area of his pelvis. At the same time, it seemed his heart was missing its beat. He wanted to say something funny. Suddenly, fear grabbed him. His father had died of heart disease as a young man.

He inhaled heavily. “Doctor!”

Tamara looked at him without interest, as if she was waiting for what would follow. There was no emotion in her eyes.

“Please,” he begged. He was almost in tears. He could barely move. He was writhing in pain, and knew he was dying.

“Are you done yet?” she asked coldly.

Just then he finally understood. He wouldn’t escape this room alive. It was a trap. His drink had been poisoned.

“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, reflecting on his screwed-up life. The relationship with his colleague Helga had endured for only a while. At first, he was planning to retire after the Beck case, and enjoy his free time with Helga. He would pursue his hobbies and manage to do everything he’d had no time for previously. But 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 demons had started to crawl out of him. He was dissatisfied, missing the eternal fight against crime, which he both loved and hated. He had started being cruel to Helga. Finally, she’d told him to choose. Either find a balance in his life, or she’d leave. They had broken up and he had drowned his sorrows in alcohol since then. In the end, he found a job as a night watchman at a factory. It wasn’t about money; he had a decent pension. He wanted to know he was still useful. Wearing a uniform and carrying a gun again helped, but he never gave up alcohol. That meant his companions consisted of similar losers like himself.

A former colleague from homicide came over to his table and sat down.

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

“About what?” he asked, frustration in his voice.

“Isn’t it that young prosecutor?”

“Show me,” he said.

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

Death in the brothel

Successful public prosecutor Karl Siebert, known as the relentless fighter of crime and defender of rights, has been 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 a mania for unusual and condemnable sexual practices. Ironically, the man, who chases moral lapses in court, has committed some of his own. We will never find out what else this man might have been hiding. According to the preliminary autopsy report, the cause of death was heart failure due to an overdose of Viagra. In his flat, acquired thanks to tax-payers’ money, numerous pornographic magazines, sex toys and narcotics were found.

Pompous photographs of the canopy bed, displaying the red bedding, and a chalk outline of the body, accompanied the article. Opposite there was a small photo of Siebert in a courtroom, creating a striking contrast.

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

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

A great epitaph for a young lawyer. And Schmidt, the Nazi bastard, would be released in six years. Clear in front of the law. He would suffer the penalty honestly, certainly. Then he would go on with his filthy practices. He had no doubt that even in prison Beck wouldn’t be treated like an ordinary criminal.

Despite the fact he had been just about to leave, he ordered another double Schnapps, drank it down, then walked away. On his way home he bought a few cans of beer and a bottle of cheap wine. 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 retire. Grey, short hair was sticking to his sweaty forehead. It was hot in there 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 a keen philanthropist.

“Yes?” Beck looked up from his financial reports. He had been there only a few days, but conditions seemed to be endurable. He had even been allowed to read daily newspapers. He also had a telephone with fax. Everything thanks to bribing the right people. In fact, he could do anything he wanted, except leave, of course.

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

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

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

He looked into Herbert’s eyes. He saw the man was listening carefully.

“Let’s take you, for example. You’re going to retire in a while. For your life-long and undoubtedly honest service, you’ll receive a couple of marks – or a couple of Euros, if they go on with this filth called the European Union. Germany wouldn’t be independent if that happened. 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 the real Germany. Think about it.”

They talked until evening. At the end, he had a convinced accomplice in Krauss. He would do anything for him, even kill. It wasn’t a coincidence that Krauss was referred to him as his guard. He had everyone in the jail checked out a long time ago and knew Krauss would be easily influenced if necessary. Although he was planning to serve a full six years and carry on with his activities from prison, he had an escape plan prepared just in case they could move faster than scheduled.

Werner was just adding the finishing touches to his speech to instruct four youngsters. Despite the fact they looked like mere hooligans in their leather vests and shaved heads, they had 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 such purposes. The room didn’t have windows and was totally soundproof.

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

Werner ran his eyes 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 to himself quietly, “Neither does Beck.”

Bored, Walter Rosenbach was listening to his radio. Empty beer cans were building up on his desk. It seemed they would fall onto the floor at any moment. He would clean it up in the morning, nobody was checking him either way. It seemed he wasn’t really necessary, only as decoration. Or because of insurance purposes.

It was the absolute dead of night. Nothing was stirring. The hard silence was interrupted only by the monotonous clicking of standpipes and murmur of his radio. He would take a regular patrol over the factory in an hour. It wasn’t necessary or even needful, but his subconscious still revolted against total passivity. The circuit took only thirty minutes and the rest of the night he stayed in this overheated office, napping behind the desk, sedated by alcohol.

An hour later, he was indifferently walking through dark silent halls of the factory. Suddenly, he spotted the glow of a strong flashlight jumping through the motionless machines towards a storage room. Alcohol had numbed him, but only partially. It had been a part of his life for long years, just like an old friend. He had been drinking automatically, barely feeling it. Or at least, that is what he’d been convincing himself. Then he noticed the door of the central storage area for products ready to export. It grabbed his attention. It shouldn’t be open.

“Damn,” he swore silently.

Something was wrong. It had never happened to him since he’d worked there. His mind immediately perked up. He pricked up his ears and detected a faint noise behind the door. He silently undid the button on his holster. He carried an automatic Berretta, caliber seven sixty-five. Turning off the flashlight, he waited until his eyes were accustomed to the dark. Then carefully, he approached the door. He stood at the right side, leaned against the doorframe and looked in.

Three young men with iron bars were just forcing open a container of finished products. Another two were already opened and rifled through. Some smashed up boxes were lying on the floor, electronic components everywhere.

“I wouldn’t do that, monkeys!” he called out to the vandals in a threatening voice.

They turned and glanced at him contemptuously. Obviously they had a low opinion of him as they didn’t even stop. It was as if he was invisible.

“Enough!” he yelled. “Stop!”

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

“Come on, grandpa. You’ve already drunk your night’s quota of beer. Now show us how an old police dog barks.”

Rosenbach winced. Not because he’d been insulted, or because it was something serious. It was just silly teasing. But something was wrong. This dummy was too specific for it to be a coincidence. His quota of beers? Old police dog? He reached for the switch. Strong light filled the room. He blinked.

“Look out, he’s got a gun!” yelled one of the youngsters, who panicked and tried to pull his own gun from behind his belt.

The old cop didn’t need more. He instinctively wrenched his Berretta out of the holster and shot two fast bullets. The young man fell, just halfway to his gun. His white shirt started to color red. The two remaining youngsters rushed at him. He changed his firing angle and neutralized both of them. He ignored the motionless bodies for now and started to check the rest of the room. Thousands of thoughts were still running through his mind. His police brain, used to combining 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 during his shift. They came for him. But who ordered it? And why? He had made a few enemies during his career. Some of them had already been released from prison. This wasn’t their style. They’d have simply killed him, without these theatrics.

A tall figure stepped from behind the container. Before he was able to react, the iron bar of that son of a bitch filled his field of view. Rosenbach was sent to the ground by a massive blow. More blows rained down on him with the intensity of a hailstorm. He knew he’d just reached the final destination. It was over.

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

Werner was waiting impatiently in the basement for the return of the youngsters. The room was hired by a subsidiary company, where Beck und Beck Company had ninety percent of its stake. After soundproofing, it was not used only as a meeting place, but also a training ground and shooting range. Beck had more places like it. Although he was in jail, his former activities kept going, with some of them running to a larger extent than before. Instead of the boss, it was managed by people like himself. He’d been working for Beck for almost four years.

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

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

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

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

“According to plan. Until Curly Guy pulled out the gun. Then everything got out of hand,” he explained with a trembling voice. “The bastard 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 around the room. Obviously, he was still in shock and jumpy. Stupid kids, they simply let an old drunk massacre them. He stayed calm. Despite his anger, he looked at the boy calmly.

“He is dead, right? Ok, take a break. I said no firearms. Did you take Curly Guy’s pistol?” Werner asked.

It was necessary that it look like an accident. No connection, not even a small one, to Eduard Beck. Eduard Beck, the hero of German economics, as he was named in newspaper articles since the rat prosecutor Karl Siebert died. And he’d keep it that way. The boss trusted him. He wouldn’t fail. Of course bribes, together with promises and threats, were needed but it paid off. Siebert’s successor understood what was expected of him very quickly. He hadn’t set an appeal against the verdict, which had been defended so passionately by his predecessor. He was rather satisfied with a certain bribe, because he also understood that a terrible accident might happen to him if he ignored their ‘gentle persuasion’.

“Yes, here.” The boy’s voice interrupted his thoughts. Encouraged by the praise, he handed Werner the gun.

Werner took it carefully. It was a small automatic. He checked the magazine. Full. He inserted it with a gentle click, and pulled the trigger. Then, like it was an after-thought, he aimed at the unsuspecting boy and shot him between the eyes.

“Take care of the body,” he told the guard.

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

Kuhner had been trying to erase incidents in the Bohemian Forest from his mind. It’d been a miracle that he, with a body full of bullets, had reached in the emergency operating room, tens of miles far from his original position, and survived. At the last minute, they’d saved his life. Then he’d learned about Eduard Beck’s trial. He didn’t doubt that if Beck knew he was alive, he would immediately polish him off as a hostile witness. Because of that, he’d been waiting before cashing Beck’s cheques, received as pay for working for him, until he was in prison.

He slotted his key into the lock, turned it and went inside. With a tired sigh, he put the briefcase down on the low shoe cabinet. He hung up his coat, put on warm, soft, comfortable slippers. With another sigh, he walked into the living room. According to his habit, he turned on the television. He pulled a cigarette out of the packet and was about to light it, when a strange smell struck his nose. Gas! He quickly threw the cigarette away and hurried to the kitchen.

When he entered the room, his head spun. The buttons of the gas oven were fully turned on. He started to feel dizzy. Suddenly, he couldn’t remember if he had turned them 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!

He panicked.

“Help, HEELP!” he yelled at the top of his voice.

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

“Help, help me! For God’s sake, HELP ME!” he yelled, 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 on the receiver.

Then the caller said only three words, “Beck doesn’t forget.”

The telephone clicked – only the monotonous dial tone remained.

Beck? How, the hell, had he found him here? The cheques! The stupid cheques! All of this, together with a lot of swearing, ran through his mind in a second.

In the next second, the accumulated gas in the apartment exploded. A firestorm blew out windows in several other flats, too. Kühner’s apartment was engulfed in a raging fire. The fire tongues leapt out of the windows.

Albert Kühner lay under the rubble of furniture, plaster and concrete pieces. The huge explosion had thrown him into the corner of the room. He lay there, his feet stuck under something heavy. He knew he had no chance. Half passed out, he was watching fire spreading towards him. His broken and burnt body was screaming in pain. But no sound came from his mouth. He couldn’t breathe, only cough shallowly.

One minute later, the rubble on his body ignited.

His life flashed before his eyes. Like in a movie, he saw himself as a child, at school, at work. And lying there. Then Beck’s disgusting dark face filled his mind. One last furious thought grew in his head.

“See you in hell, motherfucker!”

Two

March 2002, Germany

Eduard Beck was standing by the window of his office, looking out at the city. He was not satisfied. Each partial success could satisfy him only for a short moment.

He’d lost six years. Six long years in prison. He had continued his activities, but much more carefully than before. He had been entrusting every job to carefully chosen and trustworthy people. No links leading to him. He markedly restricted support of young neo-Nazis. They had no meaning for him anymore. Forward, there was no other destination. The most important work was still waiting for him. To find and use the 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 a big part of his financial empire quite fast. This was the last time he would be in this room. From tomorrow, it would be the property of American-Canadian Atlantis Corporation, who planned to reach the European financial market.

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

At first he would focus on paying back old debts. Karl Siebert – the ambitious fool. He really thought that he could stand up to him? That snake had been hiding behind the law, behind the system. The enemy he chose proved to be too powerful. His life had ended ignominiously in a brothel and his name would be stained forever.

Or Albert Kühner, that weakling. He had offered him a chance at something huge. At the time in the Bohemian Forest he had done a good job. He’d found many clues leading to the Time Gate. Too bad they hadn’t had more time, maybe he’d already found it and hadn’t said anything. He was a good archeologist, but when it came to the crunch, he’d betrayed them shamefully. His life had ended, too.

Walter Rosenbach, retired police commissioner. Arresting Beck had been the peak of his career. He hadn’t enjoyed the pension for long. He’d ended up a drunken night watchman, battered by vandals. Great obituary for death notices in a newspaper.

A problem had appeared when Beck realized that in the Czech Republic he was still persona non grata. The stamp in his passport prevented him from crossing the border until the end of the month. He could avoid it, but this time he didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Until then he wanted to do everything in accordance with the rules. Unless he found the Time Gate. Then he’d create his own rules. Meanwhile, huge amounts of funds were flowing through Swiss banks to the Commercial Bank in the Czech Republic.

Predator was preparing to attack.

Professor Martin Zander had arrived in the Czech Republic recently. He was to take over the work of his colleague professor Albert Kühner, who had reportedly been killed in a gas explosion in his apartment. Misadventure. Maybe. Misfortune for the first one, opportunity for the other. And Zander was going to seize this opportunity as much as he could. It was suggested that in addition to an interesting financial profit, he could receive something more. Besides, he’d been sworn to secrecy, and had no doubt it was hiding an untold threat. He knew the name of Eduard Beck. A couple of years ago, his face had been appearing in every newspaper and on most television channels. He was wealthy and, like many financiers, he probably had dealings with the underworld. This suspicion in connection with the war criminal made an impact on him. Zander was a committed nationalist. He respected Germans and the German nation above all. Crowds of Kurds, Turks and other immigrants, who were arriving there and making trouble, also annoyed him. They were undermining traditions and had a damaging impact on society.

Martin Zander was a tall, slender but well-built man. Apart from studying history, he liked swimming and tennis. He was in good shape. His blond hair, blue eyes and tanned skin attracted the attention of many women. Besides, he was very confident, and determined as well. He liked to be independent. That’s why he was still single at thirty-five. He wasn’t worried about that. He had an apartment in the city, a smaller house in the countryside, a sports car, and a decent packet in the bank. He was also a recognized expert in his field. He didn’t have to beg for a job, he could choose the best offers. Like what was put before him now. Everybody had a weakness – money was Zander’s.

Zander studied Kühner’s reports carefully. According to what he’d been told, he was a weakling. Despite this, he had to admit he was a professional in his job. His reports consisted of much information and analysis. But first he had to find a key to solve them. The documents looked like somebody had just raked them off the pile. He had to create a system for them before the analysis could begin, otherwise he would lose even more time.

Three weeks later, classifying the documents provided him a solid base. There were skeletal findings in the Bohemian Forest, dated to the second half of the second century CE.

At first, it had looked like routine archeological research. However, the longer he had examined the results, the more it had started to become clear that it wasn’t. The tip of a knife, found in the sternum, made of stainless steel. Headshot from the same period. Then, a wallet with papers and credit cards, found in a tomb two thousand years ago? When he came to the mention of the gold Rolex with its inscription, he already he already understood what was going on. It was colossal and he had the honor to be there. Everything fitted together. There was a time transition and his mission was to find it!

Three

Roma, 161 CE

Antonius Pius was dead. He had left Roma to his adoptive son Marcus Aurelius, who had recently married Pius’s daughter. For various political and personal reasons, he had appointed Lucius Verus as his co-emperor. Lucius Verus was also the adoptive son of Antonius Pius. He was also dead now. Despite Verus being a handsome man and a good soldier, he hadn’t been much of a thinker. The diarchy, which was something new in Roma, had helped Marcus Aurelius. It had paved the way for greater stability, while he was able to grasp the government firmly.

Aurelius was resting in a Valerian spa. He had liked it since youth, when he and his friends had been visiting this place. Spas had a beneficial impact on the body, and mind as well. Here he could think about serious affairs in peace.

He loved Roma. Not just the buildings, but the entire society, the people he was seeing, the air he was breathing. He loved what this city represented. The top of the world.

He stood up out of the water and went over to the large window. The view of the city, rising from high ground, enthralled him. Even the neighborhood of the less rich and poor Romans looked beautiful from here. Roma, the heart of the world.

“Oh, almighty Caesar, let me speak,” said a young man, entering the room.

“Speak, Gaius Tiberius. What news are you delivering me?”

“Germans, great Caesar. Those filthy barbarians are crawling out of swamps and forests yet again, invading the territory of the Roman Empire.”

The world’s most powerful man was listening to him carefully; sometimes he nodded silently. He had already been expecting something like this for a long time. This wasn’t the first time they had had similar problems, after all. Barbarian nations behind the borders were getting stronger every year. They were emerging from the emptiness and destroying everything they came across. At first, it had been only sporadic mindless attacks of small hordes that had been penetrating the territory of the Empire, plundering a few villages or settlements. The affected areas used to be relatively small and after the raid, attackers normally fell back to their settlements. Now the situation had started to change. The pressure was continuing to escalate. Their goal wasn’t just stealing, but also settling on the newly conquered and often more fertile territories. The disadvantage was that these primitive people couldn’t understand the importance of the Roman Empire. Threats weren’t enough. It was necessary to destroy them.

“What is the news from Sertorius?”

“Not good. Strong tribal communities consisting of many unrelated clans have started to form, especially in territories of Markomania-Bohemia and Sarmatia. It won’t be long before they attack the south.”

“Well, that is nothing new. We have to take more substantial steps. First, we have to strengthen the border soldiers, of course. We have to weaken the enemy internally. Soon I will issue decrees, which will allow more Germans to enter the Empire. I will spread them over the Italian territory. They will be allocated to Roman owners and tenants of the emperor’s land. Thus, they will be legally attached to their new land. I will integrate them into our society. I will provide them minimum rights, but all of the duties. We will get new farmers and soldiers, ultimately.”

“Caesar, there will be rumors that you are barbarizing these territories.”

“Don’t worry about that. I will silence all critics. We will also instigate tribal wars among the barbarians. We will infiltrate them under the pretense of trade as we did a couple of times before. I want detailed reports about German tribes in Bohemia and Sarmatia. I want to know everything. How many of them there are, what they worship, what their differences are.”

“Caesar, our army is bonded to fight with Parthia in the east. Besides, it is decimated by an unknown disease.”

“I heard about that sickness today. Why does it make everyone so fearful?”

“Soldiers get a fever. They usually die within three days from onset of the disease. I am worried that the situation is becoming untenable. The Supreme Commander, Cassius, is keeping it secret for now,” sighed the young envoy desperately.

“I have listened to you, Gaius Tiberius. Leave now and pull yourself together. I will call you.”

When he left, Marcus Aurelius looked at his trustee. “What are you thinking, Quintus?”

“The same thing as you, Caesar. The situation is serious. The imperial repository has problems. The intense war in the east, as well as the defense of the northern border and activities in other territories of the Empire are very expensive. The low morale of men, affected by disease is an important point, too. There is no quick and easy solution. You know that.”

“So?”

“The only solution I can see is annexation of Sarmatia and Markomania-Bohemia. This will shorten the border necessary to defense. Instead of the present border being the river Danube, it will be in the mountains.”

Marcus Aurelius listened silently. He didn’t intend to act on this suggestion. Other men in his position had often relied only on their advisor’s opinion and they had failed. Nobody is perfect. He was different. Many times he wondered if he was the right person to lead so large an empire. The moral responsibility resting on his shoulders was huge. How would history look at his deeds? Would he leave Roma in ruins or stronger than before? No, he couldn’t do that. At least, if he hoped to keep it in this state for future generations but he knew that the end had started already. The extensive empire was becoming unsustainable. There were many problems everywhere. Poverty, people in debt, creditors, struggles for power, and conspiracies. All of these were part of Roma. Roma, always expanding and controlling weaker empires. Now it was his turn. Roman society, spoiled by wealth and luxury, was morally weak. In contrast, the barbarians, hardened by a rough life, were as young predators hosting themselves on the weakening body of Roma. He couldn’t stop it, only slow it down.

Quintus finished and waited until his Emperor spoke.

“Yes, I have been thinking about it, too. But didn’t great Augustus already try that? He failed. It’s too expensive, too distant.”

“The invasion? Possibly. Don’t forget we have been establishing trade relationships with people in these areas for years. We know the approximate structure of their populations. It seems Markomania is populated very sparsely. At a guess, two thousand people. I don’t think they would be too big an obstacle for us,” said Quintus.

“What about the rest of the territories?”

“That will be harder. Let’s occupy Sarmatia first. We can use subjugated citizens as slaves and possibly soldiers in the next campaign. From merchants’ reports, we know that they even process iron on a small scale. It could be useful.”

“Markomania can wait. There is no existing threat. And it is separated from Sarmatia by Dnester. Let it happen.”

Merchants from the south came in the spring unexpectedly. Several slaves accompanied them. They brought a variety of goods. They settled down next to the lower river as always. They brought a large number of horses. Cattle and sheep farming weren’t firmly rooted yet, although the horse had become very popular among people.

It was kind of a step forward and backwards at the same time. Some time ago, the Teacher had instigated people to abandon their previously established way of life. Formerly they had lived in small communities, formed exclusively by members of clans. They were strongly connected by blood. This cohesion was externally applied, especially during the endless blood feuds between members of fighting families. After defeating shamans and their followers, who dominated the society until now, the Teacher had persuaded people to another life. He had introduced Laws for people. And a new style of building. Wooden houses with shingle rooves, as he had remembered from other times. Some people had chosen to live quietly in remote areas, although most of them were still living in small villages. Now, thanks to me and to horses, these people living in remote areas had started to visit each other more frequently. Kinships and friendship were cementing and new ones were being created.

I am Peter, and came to the river together with my wife Ivone, my son Peter, Ivone’s father Tork and his wife Else. Their children were already adults, so they were grateful for any visit or joint trip.

The merchants’ camp was already established. Grey canvas tents were rising to the sky, horses were snorting in the corral. There was a special run for the merchants’ horses. I was a little surprised when I saw only one horse, thinking from the sounds that there were many of them.

Smells of roasted meat and various spices floated on the air, even from a distance. Greek merchants had refined taste. There were slaves milling around the tents and finishing the last work on a temporary camp. When we approached closer, a person in colorful clothes separated from this chaos. It was a man. He raised his hand as a sign of greeting.

“Welcome, Peter.”

“Hello, Orneus. Nice to see you.”

It wasn’t just polite words often used in these lands, it was personal, too. We became true friends over time. Despite there being a certain language barrier between us, we were communicating without any problem. Orneus was well-travelled and understood more than one language. He had a natural talent for that, as well as for merchanting. This gift had probably been inherent in his family for generations.

“My friend, always when I travel to these wild parts, I look forward to seeing you. You are a very interesting person: I have never met anyone like you before. And I know many people.”

“Don’t overdo it. You’re embarrassing me,” I said, to ease the situation. This had started to be tradition at each arrival. I didn’t like it very much.

“What compliment? I owe you my life. I will never forget. I swear in the name of my father,” he pronounced solemnly.

“All right, as you want. Did you organize the stuff we agreed on?”

“Yes. But it will wait. I invite you to my tent. I ordered a roasted chicken to be prepared for your honor. I hope you will like it. Your family is invited, too.”

He knew how to please me. Roasted chicken was my favorite meal. We didn’t breed hens, so I could get them only during Orneus’s visits. Although we were hunting pheasants, guinea fowl, ducks and other birds, but Greek-style chicken, it was something totally different.

We walked into the tent and sat around a low but spacious table, full of different dishes. After a delicious lunch a rather lively debate got underway.

“Where is your brother Nassioss?” I asked curiously.

“Oh, him.” Orneus shook his head negatively. “He got married, imagine that! I thought he would be reasonable at his age.”

“What’s unreasonable about that?” said Ivone and Else together.

Orneus looked at them. In his life, women had no rights. But he respected ours. His faced relaxed and he smiled cheerfully.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that. After all, if my father was thinking similarly, I wouldn’t be here either. When you were here last, he was already reluctant to come here. You frightened him, you know. He says that life wasn’t worth any amount of money. There is more. The breath of Fire God in a box…”

“A lighter.”

“Yes. We sold this lighter to a rich Roman. He paid us so much that one person couldn’t spend it in three lifetimes. We have been rich until now, too, but suddenly we had such a large property that it had to impact our lives. Moreover, Nassioss met a woman at the time. He decided to marry and settle down. I can’t blame him. Love dazzles the senses just like wine. I am too old for that and you can’t teach an old dog new ideas. Merchanting is my life. I can’t and don’t want to do anything else. And then, I like travelling and meeting new people.”

“Sometimes I envy you,” I said. “I like travelling, too. By the way, I send regards from Kalos to you.”

“How is the unworthy wimp?” he asked cheerfully.

“You wouldn’t recognize him. He grew up, physically and mentally. He has two children and hard work toughened him. There is no trace of his fear anymore.”

“I am glad to hear it. Greek blood will survive even in these conditions. Let’s move on to the trade.”

He went to the entrance of the tent. “Boot!” he called the black slave. “Take the women to the jewelry tent. Let each of them choose two items of their liking.”

The slave bowed to Orneus obsequiously and motioned the women to follow. Ivone and Else went with him, chirping cheerily. I stepped out, too, but Orneus barred the way with his hand.

“You stay. There are many things we have to discuss,” he said seriously. His expression didn’t match his previous behavior at all. Then I realized he’d done this on purpose. He didn’t want to worry the women.

“What’s going on, Orneus?” asked Tork.

Today he wasn’t talking too much. He had troubles, too.

“My friend, as you know, we come from far away. We travel on chartered ships to sea, also called the Black Sea. A large river Don, or Danube, flows into it. Down this river we go deeply inland. We deal with many people of different nations. What is a common thing somewhere, has a great value far from there. But I don’t want to talk about that.”

He wet his lips with a sip of wine and went on, “In the Roman province of Pannonia I have heard serious things. The Danube creates a border with the Roman Empire there. It is well fortified and there are a large number of soldiers of the second legion, too. I have heard they are waiting for an onslaught of Germans. Apparently, tribes far in the north are on the move.”

“Yes, I have heard something like that. Northern tribes of Goths. They have been gradually moving south for decades. In recent years their movement has increased noticeably. So far, they make only small communities, formed mostly by one or more families. But several men have already tried to unify more clans. They understood that unity is strength. Fortunately, for now they failed to achieve significant success.

“So, it’s true,” sighed Orneus. “It means that the rest is true, too.”

“Speak clearly,” I told him.

“It is said that Marcus Aurelius intends to stop Germans once and for all.”

“What does that mean?”

“In this time, the Roman Empire is fighting in the east of the country, in the area between two big rivers, so-called Mesopotamia and Armenia. Their present enemy is Parthia. In addition, some Germanic tribes, lusting after the soil, are sneaking into the Roman provinces of Northern and Central Europe and across the Alps they have reached Italy. Towns have been destroyed, houses burned, women raped. They even besieged the Adriatic port of Aquileia.”

“Wait a second. I mostly understand what you are talking about, but local geographic names and names of towns sound strange to me,” I interrupted him.

“I want to say that the Germanic threat is very real for the Roman Empire. Too real to ignore. Recently it was only troops of savages, looting the border areas of the Empire. They sent a penal section to them and there was a peace for a while. Now they have become a major threat, as well as some advanced empires. Romans can’t just turn a blind eye anymore. They have to solve that. They have decided to a radical cut.”

“So, what will follow?”

My mouth went dry. Thinking back to before I arrived in this time, I remembered visiting a small museum in the Bohemian Forest in 1996. Professor Schmidter, a bookworm in glasses, frightened me at the time.

“This undoubtedly advanced culture disappeared very quickly. They drew the attention of Romans, so they surrounded and destroyed the area. This happened during the reign of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius,” he said to me.

“How much time do we have?” I asked quietly.

“I don’t know, Peter. It is possible that it won’t happen in the end. They have huge problems in the east of the country, where they fight with Parthia. Some terrible disease is spreading among the soldiers. That’s all I have found out. While all of this is resolved, much may change. Except that it seems they have financial problems too. It’s hard to keep so huge a war machine running and so extensive an empire globally. Taxes, imposed on the population, lead to grumbling and unrest. After all, emperors change, too. And so do their ideas and rules with them.”

“No, it won’t happen this time. They’ll attack. Marcus Aurelius will attack,” I said tightly.

“You can’t know that,” interposed Orneus.

“Yes, he can,” interrupted Tork.

I looked at Orneus. He was my friend and he couldn’t lie. What was I going to tell him anyway?

“Orneus,” I started carefully, “what do you think about the chain and lighter I gave to you?”

“They are certainly very fine artistic treasures. And valuable. Although, among us, I think that the breath of Fire God in a box is just a trick.”

“Yes, basically you are right. They are very valuable. But not for their beauty. They are unique, because they come from a different time.”

I paused, waiting to see how he would take it. His response was tough.

“What do you mean, different time?” he barked incredulously.

“Just as you heard. A moment ago you said that a common thing in one place was a very valuable far from there. Lighters, chains and a lot of far more complex things are common in different times, but here, in small amounts, they are exceptional.”

“What time are you talking about? Did you come from there, too?”

“I did. You certainly noticed the difference between the body composition of these people and mine. Height, color of hair and eyes. In my time another nation lives here. It means only one thing. This culture and these people will be destroyed or absorbed into another culture.”

“When will it happen?”

“I don’t know exactly. What is future for you is distant past for me. There aren’t accurate records of this period. I haven’t been too interested in history. I know only a few events.”

“So, what will follow?” This time it was Tork who asked. He had a stunned expression on his face, too. Despite how he knew much about the future, the Teacher had not mentioned these things. They were directly related to local people and he didn’t want to interfere in the natural development of time. Or he didn’t know about that.

“The Roman Empire will fall. It will be thanks to the Germanic barbarians. However, it won’t happen now, but in a few centuries. Marcus Aurelius will die a natural death, as an old man. I don’t know much about him, only that in my time he was called a Philosopher, because he wrote many reflections on life and himself. I know that he was fighting with Germans, but nothing more.”

“How spectacular. Finally though, everything has its beginning and its end. Like human life begins with birth and ends with death, empires rise and fall,” said Orneus.

“What are we going to do?” asked Tork.

“To be honest, I don’t know. I had no idea that the end is so close. I don’t know how we can prepare. Is it possible to change history? Or even try just leading to fulfill it?” I said.

This time Orneus spoke, “Romans don’t wage war indiscriminately. First, they examine the situation, natural conditions, mentality, religion, everything. They leak to future victims the false pretense of trade and friendship. When they estimate the power of the enemy, they master him.”

“Therefore, a ruse could be a solution. We can pretend that we are much weaker than in reality. They mustn’t learn more than we allow them. And they certainly mustn’t suspect the number of our people,” proposed Tork.

“And if it doesn’t work?” I suggested, reconciled to the inevitable.

“Peter, you have tried that for yourself. Things that at the first sight seem impossible can be achieved with a strong will. We can’t give up. We will do our best. And if that isn’t enough, we will die. Nothing less and nothing more. You can be afraid of the future from birth to the end. You can be afraid of death during your lifetime. You will not solve anything: you will not live even one day longer.”

“You’re right, my friend. We won’t give up on fate. We won’t just sit back and wait for the end. The basic term is information.”

I turned to Orneus. The Greek was listening closely. Today he had learned many unusual things and now considered what position he should take. Either he refused everything or not.

“Orneus,” I said with a straight face, “now you’re our only hope. You can move over wide areas without arousing too much attention. We need information, a lot of information, as exact as possible.”

“What do you want from me, Peter?”

“Orneus, in the name of our friendship and in the name of the life I gave to you, I’m asking you to not return home. I want you to stay in the area around Rome on a suitable pretext. I want you to gather information and send it to us by a reliable messenger.”

He was thinking. What I was asking for wasn’t just a small thing. In these harsh regions and atmosphere of future war, he could easily lose his life. It was very risky. Finally, he took a deep breath and spoke with a decisive voice, “As you wish. I am aware of my commitment. I would do what you want even if you didn’t remind me of my debt to you.”

“You’re an honest man, Orneus. I do have to remind you of one thing – it’s possible that it could last for years and you will never go home. Maybe you will never see your sunny Athens, your brother, or you friends again. Do you realize what I’m asking?”

“I do realize it very well. Please, never doubt my loyalty to you. Regarding my brother, I will miss him. But home… I have no home anymore. From youth I spent all my time on the road. My home is everywhere and nowhere. I will be your eyes and ears among the Romans. I hope my information will help.”

When he had finished, his face brightened. He, the man, who had spent his life wandering and trading across the known world, had found a new meaning in life. He linked his life and ours together. From now our successes would be his successes, our defeats his defeats.

“Thank you, my friend. Thank you in my name and in the name of these people.”

Then the discussion focused on the practical content of our agreement. At first, Orneus would finish his trading, as in previous years. On the way back, he would stop in the Roman province of Pannonia and would stay there under some pretext. He would check the situation and decide what to do next. We discussed for a long time what could be a plausible reason for his stay. He had enough money to spend many years there without any activity. But, that could look suspicious.

Basically, there were two options to obtain information. The first was to purchase from people who possessed it. Everybody had a price, from a simple soldier to a commander. However, this was very dangerous and it could easily backfire on us. The unsatisfied informant could notify the Commander, or give him false or misleading information on purpose. The second option was simple. Much important information was leaking out from amongst all kinds of people, or, at least, amongst ordinary soldiers. And they liked to further boast what they had found out. It was also possible to make friends with higher Roman officers and during the discussion, with the application of wine, extract what they knew. There wasn’t anything such as official secrets in the Roman dictionary. Although providing information to the enemy was considered treason and punishable by death, talking about the same thing in some public house, while drinking wine, was basically harmless.

We chose the second method, combined with bribery if necessary. First of all, Orneus had to infiltrate the local society and that would take some time. He would make friends with prominent personalities. He would choose people dissatisfied with their positions, yearning for promotion, for power, for money. He would discover their weaknesses, whether wine, women, or young boys.

“In that case, I have an idea,” said the merchant. “I will open a public house. I already have a very clear vision of it. There will be a room for soldiers and junior officers at the back. At the front, there will be a large fancy room for young patricians and officers. And of course, spacious rooms for lodgers. It will take some time to get clients, but it’s a good way.”

“I think so. You will be able to use your business talent. In my opinion, it will work,” I said.

“We have to solve one more thing. Messengers. I can barely trust my own people. They are burdened by their problems and corruptible as well, so they could be a source of information about me. There are certainly people who would be interested in them.”

“Right. But they don’t know anything yet. I mean, they don’t know about our agreement. We will tell only those who we want to know. You are a Greek merchant, travelling and trading for years. And now you have to stay there for some time. Let’s say, we will give you five or six people and they will pretend to be your slaves. They will learn the language of Romans and local habits. You will use them as messengers. They know this region, nothing will surprise them. You said the border was twenty days of walking from us.”

“I guess. Counting on travelling with a load.”

“That means about eight days of riding.”

“Approximately. There could be unpredictable circumstances. Besides, there’s no direct maintained path from this place to the closest appropriate Roman fort. Thus, when your people learn how to manage required activities, I will send my people back to Greece, to my brother. I will keep only a few of them as they have been with me for a long time and I trust them.”

There was a silence. Each was immersed in his own thoughts. This agreement was the beginning of something new. Would it help? I couldn’t say that in the moment. We would just have to do our best.

“So, we have made a deal. Me and Tork will go for the Teacher tomorrow and tell him everything, too.”

Suddenly, one of the slaves entered the tent. “The women have chosen, sir.”

It was the signal for us to close our discussion. The women arrived back and everybody went their way. Hundreds of ideas were whirling around in my head. One blacker than the others.

Carmuntum, Roman military camp

Publius Decimus Maximilianus was extremely indignant. He was again drowning in despair. Here, in this wasteland, far from the great Rome, at the very end of civilization. No pretty spa, forum, nothing. Even women counted for nothing.

He looked with disgust at the German woman lying on bear fur. Such a barbarian bumpkin. She didn’t know anything about the refined art of physical love. During the act she was looking as if it was happening against her will. Her will! What will could this lousy barbarian have! Her own people had sold her into the slavery. In fact, she had been sold by the members of another German tribe who had captured her.

For Maximilianus it didn’t really matter. His depression was rising along with every bottle of wine. He pitied himself all the time, but when he was drunk, his bad mood culminated. How did he offend the gods? How did he offend against Mart, his family god?

He had been preparing for a great career since youth. He had studied military strategy, war tactics, rhetoric and art. He was making contacts with important people, whether they were patricians or senators. They had all the capabilities. Nevertheless, he ended up here, at the end of the world, forgotten and meaningless. When he thought about it, he shivered. Forgotten and meaningless – yes, that was him. He looked assertive in front of men; it even seemed they respected him. But it meant nothing. Nobody in Rome cared. In his youth, he had dreamed of great victories so much. He came from a minor branch of the famous family of Scipio. His ancestors were men such as Aemilianus Scipio Africanus, Tiberius Grakchus or Gaius Grakchus. Men who had gone down in history. The triumphant winner of Punic captain Hannibal was his model from childhood. And what had he achieved? He was forty years old now. Years ago, the Emperor Antonius Pius had sent him on an expedition to Britain. He had fought many great victories. It had been another step in his career. However, the situation had changed. Marcus Antonius had become the Emperor and he had his own minions. Publius Decimus had been ignored. He had been assigned to meaningless positions. He was already there for five years. He couldn’t stand it anymore!

He went to the table and picked up his sword. He grabbed it with both hands and moved it below the sternum. Just one movement and his soul would leave this vile place.

No! Suddenly he came to himself. He still could show everybody what the great descendant of Scipio Africanus was capable of. And he would! Now he had to clear his head. He looked out the window. He heard the distant noise of nightlife. He picked up another glass of wine and emptied it.

Four

Germany, 2002

Eduard Beck was spending the last days in his house. He was going to sell it, just like he had sold his company. He had accumulated an enormous sum of money. He had given up all connections: his company, which had been built from nothing and his market position. Everything because of one goal – to pass through time, to join Hitler.

He had chosen a lofty goal. Truth is, he hadn’t chosen it. History had chosen him to fulfill his destiny. Germany would rise from the ashes like the mythological bird Phoenix. Everything here had no meaning for him. The only thing he was interested in was power. The absolute power over millions of people’s lives and over the world. And he would be successful, he didn’t doubt it for a moment. Everything was ready. Materials, weapons, people. Only one thing was left – to find the Gate. It was just a matter of time. And he was patient. This time he couldn’t spoil anything.

A gentle knock on the door returned him back to the present. His personal servant and driver was standing behind him.

“Excuse me, Herr Führer,” he announced, “Werner’s here.”

“Send him in,” said Beck calmly.

The young man walked into the room briskly. He immediately came to attention, raised his hand to salute and exclaimed, “Heil Führer. I came, as you wanted.”

“Ease!” commanded Beck. “Come here, Werner, to my desk.”

He showed him a small-scale map, obviously very detailed. It was an original print with some hand-drawn symbols.

“Look at this. It’s a map of the locality of Sharka, not far from the Czech-German border. Focus our attention and all activities on this area now. Only this one has any importance for us. Not just for us, for the entire world as well. I will offer something extraordinary to you, Werner. Huge, I could say. In return, I want your absolute devotion. Nothing less, nothing more.”

Beck surveyed him carefully, as if he wanted to peek into his soul. If he noticed even just a shadow in his face, blinking at the wrong moment, or a hint of suspicion, Werner wouldn’t leave this room alive. He saw only admiration. He then opened the drawer and pulled out a toothy, grinning skull with a hole in the forehead. He started to talk, “Everything began when we discovered this skull…”

He talked long and slowly. Beck told Werner only things he considered necessary. All the time not taking his eyes off him.

At first, Werner listened with tension on his face, but gradually it started to change into admiration and deep interest. What he had heard was simply amazing. He didn’t suspect him of lying or insanity. He would be one of the chosen. The right-hand man of the ruler of the world.

The boss finished. There was a silence.

“Do you understand everything I said?”

“Absolutely,” Werner said, with adoration in his eyes.

“Good. Now, let’s discuss the next step.”

The older man opened the second drawer in his desk and pulled out more papers. It was obvious at first sight they were official documents. There were stamped documents, geodetic maps, and other items that Werner could not see immediately.

“These are extracts from the land registry and land maps of the area we are interested in. I intend to buy up these properties,” he announced.

The phone rang. Beck picked it up and listened.

“Yes, Professor Zander. Yes, it won’t take long. I’ll send you my envoy for special affairs. Goodbye.”

He hung up. He looked into the distance for a moment, as if he had forgotten about Werner.

Suddenly, he turned to the young man and said with an authoritative voice, “You are going to the Bohemian Forest, Werner. After this talk, you’re leaving Germany. You’re going to the Czech Republic. There you’ll find Professor Zander. I have work for him to do. He will cooperate with us. Your task is also to find somebody average, in whose name all the properties will be bought. Here’s the list of chosen persons. Choose whoever you want. Just for clarification, the foreigner can’t own a property in the Czech Republic. No complications can happen, no problems. No violence, unless I approve. If someone hesitates, buy him off. Our financial resources for this operation are more than sufficient.” He paused.

“I understand,” said Werner.

“Good. Do everything according to the law. I can’t afford any mistakes. You’ll inform me about everything in detail. Franz will give you everything you’ll need. You can go.”

The young man came to attention, saluted and left.

That evening, Werner crossed the Czech-German national border. He stopped at the first big town and found a hotel. It was night, and not a good idea to start that late in the day. Tomorrow he’d rent another car and contact Professor Zander. At reception, he changed his German marks to Czech crowns. He checked in under a false name and let the porter deliver his luggage to the room. But the briefcase with documentation, money and identification papers with three different names he carried himself. He would not entrust that to anyone.

When in the room, he gave a generous tip to the porter and asked not to be disturbed. He waited until the door closed, then put the briefcase on the table and walked over to the bar. He pulled out a bottle of Scotch and poured half a glass, then dropped in a few ice cubes.

Although he was a passionate nationalist, like all of Beck’s people, he didn’t strictly refuse anything that wasn’t purely German. He had loved the taste of whiskey long before he’d met Beck and Kraft. Bernard Kraft had been his teacher and a great role model. Before the arrest of Eduard Beck, he was the boss’s right hand. That was when Bernard had disappeared. He had vanished without a trace. The boss had never mentioned his name, which could mean just one thing – he was out. He betrayed Beck’s confidence and at the critical moment, during the clash with police, he disappeared. Because of several murders, an arrest warrant had been issued for him. Interpol was still searching for him, even after so many years. He had disappeared into thin air.

When the boss offered him Bernard’s position, he didn’t hesitate for a second. It was a significant development in his career. It meant not just higher esteem in Beck’s organization, but also extra money and various other benefits. And especially Beck’s faith. After yesterday’s talk, he knew he had done the right thing when he accepted the offer. They were standing on the threshold of a new history, preparing something monumental for the world. And during this, he would be the adjutant of one of the world’s most powerful men. He couldn’t ask for more.

Next morning, he ordered a hearty breakfast. He ate in his room, and then lit a cigarette. He opened the briefcase and pulled out the documents. He checked the owners of land parcels in the registers and looked for them on maps. He had a marvelous memory and memorized the names of the largest owners by heart. He didn’t bother with the others; there were so many of them it would be pointless. When he had finished, he sat back and lit another cigarette. Then he pulled out one of three document folders, opened it and spread the documents on the table. Identity card, driving license, insurance card, library card, a few creased movie, bus and cleaner tickets. All documents were registered in the name of Karel Novak. Address, Krenova ulica, Brno. All forgeries were high quality; during any routine inspection they practically couldn’t be detected.

“Karel Novak, Karel Novak, Karel Novak,” he repeated several times, until the name smoothly flowed off his tongue. Then he began to assimilate more facts, itemized on two sheets of paper: grandparents, parents, childhood, school, friends, former jobs. He was absorbing information like a sponge and storing it into his subconscious. After a few hours, he absolutely accepted his new identity. He knew that Beck’s people had already taken care to ensure that the data couldn’t be verified. Now he could move on. He repacked his bags, went down to reception and checked out. This was the beginning.

Werner Dietrich was the third born child of a history professor. His father’s specialization, as well as his hobby, was the history of the Slavonic nations. He was fascinated by them. His grandfather had been a passionate nationalist and a member of NSDAP (National Socialist German Workers Party) from its very beginning. Werner’s father hadn’t inherited this feature; he was rather against the violence and, wanting to redeem his father’s guilt, he looked after the Czech people where he could.

Young Werner was a gifted child. He had an exceptional memory and was also very intelligent. However, one episode of his life marred this beautiful picture. In high school he brutally beat a boy who had stolen his girlfriend.

At the time, his father was involved in politics. When his son’s scandal was discovered, he was appointed as the ambassador in the Czech Republic. He had decided to take his son with him and made him apply to the Czech university. Although he had wished that his son would follow his footsteps, he had decided on a Technical University.

Werner delved into studying as hard as he could. The language barrier was the biggest problem. After a short time, he had realized he had a talent for learning foreign languages. This encouraged him, and he hired a private Czech teacher. After some time, he mastered the language perfectly, from writing and dialect to coarse slang. Friends often teased him, they called him ‘a native Czech’.

During this time, he experienced another unhappy love. The problem wasn’t with the girl, but her parents. They simply forbade her to go out with him. After finishing university, he went back to Germany. He had cut contact with his father and the rest of the family. He was hanging out on the streets, lost, angry and unfulfilled.

Then he met Bernard Kraft, who finally gave him a goal. To serve Germany, to serve Beck. They made various subversive actions, especially attacking rivals of Beck and showing other nationalities who was boss. He finally felt he belonged somewhere. For the first time he stained his hands with human blood.

The initial dismay turned into a stupor. Murder didn’t whip up any emotion in him anymore. He’d proved himself, now he had trust and was progressing. Other tasks were entrusted to him. Sometimes he worked by himself, sometimes with a group of men. Along with that came money. Lots of it. He received a regular salary and bonuses for special actions as well.

Then it happened. The fiasco at the Bohemian Forest and Bernard’s disappearance opened up the door. He accepted the offer and became Beck’s adjutant for special affairs. His right hand man. And much more was waiting in the wings…

He decided to go on foot across the town. He walked through the square, watching people. He bought a newspaper and cigarettes at the newsstand. He had noticed both ordinary workers and middle class locals were smoking Start brand, so to fit in he bought the same cigarettes. Then he went to the market and bought appropriate clothes at one of the Vietnamese stalls. When he changed in the changing room, he looked at his image in the mirror. He had become one of them and would merge into the crowd. He walked out of the changing room.

“Ok, I’ll take them,” he said to the salesman.

“Mista wanna pack the clothes?” asked the Vietnamese with a funny Czech accent.

“It’s not necessary. How much is it?” he asked in perfect Czech, relishing the difference.

He paid and waited for change. No tips anymore. He put on cheap sunglasses, and with his old clothes in a bag, stepped into the street.

A minute later, he disappeared into the crowd.

It was a warm day. Summer hadn’t begun yet, but the afternoon temperatures often rose over twenty degrees Celsius. Werner Dietrich walked into Used Cars Sedlacek. The car yard was deserted; almost twenty cars of different models were parked and for sale. An old German Shepherd was lying in his cage near the corner of the fencing, too warm to bark, cooling himself with his tongue hanging out. The office was located in a wooden white painted demountable. He could see inside as the door was ajar. A middle-aged man was sitting behind the desk, reading a newspaper. The only thing moving was a propeller fan, which was not making much impression on the oppressive air. The radio was too loud. Simply said, it was a low-class car yard. That was exactly what he needed.

“Good afternoon!” he yelled, to be heard above the radio.

The man put down the newspaper and stood up quickly. He put on a helpful smile. “Good afternoon to you. I’m the owner, Petr Sedlacek. How can I help you?”

I know, Werner almost said. They had chosen this man a long time ago. Former prisoner, a few frauds, stolen cars and so on.

“I’d like to buy a car.”

“So you’re in the right place. What would you want? Something cheap? May I recommend…?”

“Wait,” Werner stopped him, “I’m interested in something special. I want a car with papers in my name. Do you understand? Of course, I’ll pay for your service and discretion.”

The other man blinked slyly. It was obvious he was no stranger to accommodating this type of arrangement.

“I could arrange that,” he announced confidently, “but it’ll be very expensive. What type of car will it be?”

“Something inconspicuous. I’d prefer an older car, about five years old. It has to be in perfect mechanical condition. What do you have here?”

They were walking between the cars. An older dark-blue Skoda caught his eye. Observing the city, he knew it was a popular car. He moved closer to examine it. The car had been driven about ninety thousand kilometers. The left front fog lamp was completely rusted, the plate near the lamp was gently folded, like the driver had snagged on something. The tailgate had started to corrode too and needed to be replaced. The interior wasn’t in exemplary condition. It had not been very well looked after. He took the keys from Sedlacek, got in the car and started the motor. It started immediately and purred smoothly and regularly. Werner understood cars.

“Ok, I’ll take this one. I’ll be back at six. I’ll give you half the money now and the rest when the papers and car are ready.” He handed over the money. On a sheet of paper he scribbled the name and information that should be added to the car documentation.

Professor Zander was sitting in the office and studying Kühner’s documents. This issue was very interesting for him and he couldn’t wait to do his own research. He was attracted by that, as well as by the money they had offered him for this job. Beck had promised to send an adjutant with new directions. He should come today.

The doorbell rang. He put on slippers and hurried to the door. When he looked through the peephole, he gasped. There was a young undistinguished man behind the door. A loser. What does he want?

“Please, help me. My car has broken down. I need to make a call,” the man said in Czech.

Zander opened the door. His face turned red with rage. “Go to hell!” he yelled at him, annoyed at being disturbed.

“Good evening, Mr. Zander,” the man suddenly said in pure German. “I was sent by our common friend.”

Zander, mouth gaping, waved him inside.

The evening after Werner’s visit, the doorbell rang. Annoyed, Beck looked out the window. There was a car next to the gate and a man in a cheap suit was pushing the bell intensively. A short time before, guard dogs were released. Now they were collecting at the gate and barking furiously at the stranger. Franz came in.

“Sir…”

“I don’t want to receive anybody, Franz. Did I make myself clear?” he snapped angrily.

“Yes, Herr Beck, I apologize. Sir, he says he’s a policeman. Allegedly, he has very important negotiations with you.”

What the hell was happening? Now? In the evening? It looked like trouble.

“All right, I’ll receive him downstairs in the office.”

A few minutes later, the barking stopped. The front door slammed and Franz, along with the visitor, entered the house. Franz led him into the office.

“Good evening,” said the owner of the house. There was no indication of anger in his voice. He was speaking with the practiced tone of a businessman.

The man smiled assertively. “Good evening. You don’t know me, but I know you very well. My name’s Stephan Lintner.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Lintner. Please, have a seat.” He indicated the chair next to the table. “What can I do for you?”

“As I said, I’m Commissioner Lintner from the Homicide Department. A few years ago, my partner Walter Rosenbach was murdered.” He paused and waited for Beck’s reaction.

Beck sat up, but he didn’t show any emotion.

“Why are you telling me?” he asked with false indifference.

“I thought it could be interesting to you. You met him, although not in very favorable conditions for you. After he retired, I was promoted into his position. I won’t bother you with trivia. Let’s get straight to point. What I’m trying to say is recently you have been conditionally released from prison, so each conflict with the law could mean you might return behind bars. And with this conflict I mean nothing less than multiple murder. Now are you interested?” he asked, with the feeling of superiority.

There was silence. They were surveying each other like gladiators in the arena, estimating each other’s power.

“Speak clearly,” said his rival.

“As you wish.” Lintner stretched in the chair, knowing his superiority. “The public prosecutor Karl Siebert, retired police commissioner Walter Rosenbach and history professor Albert Kühner have all died within a relatively short time of each other. All three names are connected to your activities in the Czech Republic, your arrest and conviction. Simply said, they all were connected to you. Imagine that, every one of these young men found dead. Next to the beaten body of Rosenbach were objects leading to Beck und Beck Company. Moreover, there’s a big hustle in the financial market in these days. One big financial company was sold to the foreign group Atlantis. But as to the financier and owner of the company, you know it already.”

“And?”

“And the funds credited to the account of Beck und Beck Company, were moved to Switzerland and then… you’ll never guess… to the Czech Republic. Isn’t that the place where you had an area of interest before poor Walter arrested you?”

Now Beck was staring at him even more fixedly than before. He had to sort this out. Now!

“What do you want?” Beck asked calmly.

“What do I want? Well, I certainly don’t want to be a famous cop who will send a well-known prisoner back behind bars. Despite being a prisoner of high caliber. Let’s say I came to hear your suggestions on how to solve this interesting situation. So?”

“Oh, yes. Everybody has a price. But where’s a guarantee that you’ll forget everything after I pay you?”

“I don’t think you have a choice. According to the rash sale of your company, I suppose that you have urgent matters in the Bohemian Forest. I suggest the most viable way,” he smiled. “Even if you manage to prove your innocence, you’ll spend a lot of time in jail. And time, as you financiers say, is money.”

“Herr Lintner,” announced Beck with the same calm voice, “there is always a choice. Franz, please, our guest needs special care.”

The servant approached the policeman from behind. Suddenly, a gun appeared in his hand. He put it to the ear of the sitting man and looked at his employer, waiting for orders.

Jesus Christ, this son of a bitch would kill me without batting an eye!

Fear spread through Lintner. The color drained from his face. With his final breath, he put on a stiff mask.

“You won’t do it,” he yelled. “I have the evidence!”

Beck ignored him. He was considering his options.

“Franz, this man has told me everything for now. We will continue the conversation downstairs.”

Franz hit the man’s neck with the gun. He passed out immediately.

“Take him to the basement. Prepare everything we need for questioning. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Commissioner Stephan Lintner was slowly coming around. The first thing he saw was an austere room. It strongly reminded him of the underground building of Beck und Beck Company, which he had searched with his colleagues. Walter Rosenbach had led them on that day. But it was a long time ago.

As he came to, he realized he was naked, tied to large chair with thick leather straps. He almost couldn’t breathe, let alone move. It was cold. His body started to shiver. It was more because of fear than the cold. He regretted he had let his greed win. The vision of Beck’s money had blinded him and now he was in this trouble. Maybe he could save himself, if he could keep a cool head.

Franz, noticing Lintner was shivering, laughed aloud. Lintner was at his mercy and that gave him pleasure. He wondered what the victim was thinking, and pulled out pliers, clicking them several times.

Lintner’s stomach turned in fear. Torture. God, no!

Beck came in and looked at the chained man with disgust. A worm. Such a silly idea to try and blackmail him. He hated it. Now it was time to discover what he had up his sleeve.

“So, Mr. Commissioner,” he said with a sarcastic voice, “you walked into my house and foreshadowed things that concern me. Thus, I would like to continue our conversation. I consider this way more convenient.” He gestured around the room.

“Wait, Herr Beck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Let’s forget about it. Now I have no doubt that you’re innocent,” Lintner spoke shakily.

“Guilty, innocent, does it matter? From this system’s point of view I’m probably guilty. By the way, I don’t respect this state. This pro-European government are just incompetent clowns. I trust only Germany and Germans. Too long they’ve been wearing blinkers, too long others took what belonged to them by right. I was chosen by fate to fix this old injustice. But, let’s return to our first conversation. In your opinion, what information do you have about me?”

“None. Nothing at all. I made up everything. I have no evidence. Please, forget about it!”

“Well, well, Herr Commissioner. Keep your dignity. Considering you made up everything, you have quite accurate information. Either you’re lying, which I don’t like, or you have very special psychic abilities. Or everything’s just a coincidence. Now I’ll tell you what will follow. You’ll tell me everything you know. I advise you to not forget anything. Otherwise Franz will refresh your memory very quickly.”

“I don’t know anything, I swear! Please!”

Beck was watching the man change into the bundle of nerves. He was shivering uncontrollably and begging desperately. Then he looked at Franz and nodded. He took his pliers and stepped towards the man on the chair. He released the prisoner’s hand. Lintner was so stressed that he didn’t even try to resist. It would be pointless anyway. Franz grabbed his little finger in the pliers skillfully. He looked at Beck again.

“Do it.”

He squeezed the pliers and cut off the Commissioner’s finger. The blood spurted within a second and a heartrending scream rang around the room. Lintner was shouting, screaming, until his voice failed. Then he was just wheezing, he couldn’t even breathe properly.

He totally broke down. In a minute, he told everything he knew. He and his colleague, investigating Rosenbach’s death, found in the dead boy’s pocket a reference, written on paper with the logo of Beck und Beck Company. It didn’t lead anywhere. But now, after Beck’s release, things started to fit together. The company sold quickly to the Canadian and US financial group Atlantis and all funds were transferred through Swiss banks to the Czech Republic. Everything indicated that Beck was going to leave Germany. They had found out from his colleagues that he would be allowed to enter Czech Republic soon. They didn’t have concrete evidence, only suspicion. They had decided to try it. He had all the documentation on this case in his desk in his office.

“I’m glad you’ve changed your mind, Herr Lintner,” spoke Beck, when it was over. “Only one thing remains. What’s the name of your colleague, who did you cooperate with?”

He was speaking in a calm voice, like he was talking to a friend or business partner in a café.

“Paul Berger. He lives on Reiss Street, 112.”

“Thank you. Now I think there are no more things you could tell me.” He looked at his killer. “Franz, finish this.”

He turned and walked out of the room. He heard a click, followed by a dull thud behind him. Franz would take care of the body. Now they had other worries. He went into the office and picked up his phone.

It was a madhouse from early morning. One of those never-ending days had begun again. Another two people had the flu and stayed at home. The work was piling up. Oliver Gubser had been the boss of the Homicide Division for only nine months. He still wasn’t able to cope with what that entailed. He was one of those bosses who tried to understand his workers, but the workload made it nearly impossible. He had climbed from the lowest rank to where he was now. He was more a man of action and paperwork wasn’t for him. He couldn’t do anything with that; this morning he had been scolded on the phone.

He walked out of the office and over to the coffee machine. Now he needed it more than anything else. On the way he met Erhart.

“God, man,” he yelled at him, “where the hell is the report from the day before yesterday? The dead guy was in the city council. The Commissioner wants to know how the case developed. I want the report on my desk within an hour! Don’t try my patience! And your Friday holiday is provisionally cancelled.”

“But…”

“No buts! I don’t have enough people.”

After he’d shouted at Erhart, he felt a little better. He always chose a scapegoat. When he was yelling at someone in front of the others, they immediately tried to catch up on their backlog. The truth was that the case with the murdered councilor had started to drag. They had basically nothing.

He walked around Lintner’s desk. He wasn’t at work.

Damn, this is just what I need right now. Where is that man!

He turned to the man behind the next desk. “Berger, where’s Lintner?”

“Don’t know. Yesterday we finished up here and I haven’t seen him since then. He said he needed take care of some business.”

“Get him, now! It’s not good enough! There will be discipline in here!”

He turned and almost bumped into a man in overalls. There was the name of a firm on his back. Kremp Conditioning.

“Excuse me,” mumbled Gubser.

“It’s ok,” answered the man politely, “I am finished. I’ll send you an invoice as usual.” He then disappeared out of the building very quickly.

A few minutes later, a massive explosion wiped out almost half of the building.

The Homicide Division was completely obliterated, only ruins remained. What was left of the ceiling came tumbling down. Many people were trapped under the wreckage.

Paul Berger was one of the survivors. He was rushed to the nearest hospital with severe injuries and taken immediately into surgery. They did not know whether he would live or die.

After the three-hour operation he was in critical condition. They transferred him to the intensive care unit, connecting many wires to monitor his vital functions.

A policeman in uniform stood in front of the door.

A tall slim nurse walked down the corridor. She was pushing a linen trolley, looking at the uniformed guard drinking coffee half-way along the corridor.

The policeman had been there for hours and was obviously bored. Nevertheless, he was still watching the area. Most of all he noticed the young nurses.

The guard spotted the young girl at the end of corridor pushing the trolley. Wow, she’s hot! he thought. Tall, blond hair, firm body. God, if she came closer! I’d like to ask her out when I’m finished here.

As though she had heard his thoughts, she walked towards him. He didn’t take his eyes off her. When she looked at him, he smiled shyly.

The young policeman made a decision.

“Can I help you, Miss?” he asked in an official voice. He knew chicks liked it.

“Maybe,” she said nervously. “The charge nurse sent me to change the bed linen of the man who was operated on this morning.”

He opened the patient’s door, and helped her with the trolley. He thought quickly on how to make conversation.

“You have an interesting job…” he read the name on her tag, “Tamara.”

She smiled again. “When I was young, I wanted to become a nurse and help people.”

“So your dream came true. Can I help you with anything else?”

Suddenly, the shyness disappeared from her face; it was replaced by something disturbing.

“No, thanks. You’ve done enough for me.”

She reached under the folded sheets and pulled out a gun with a long silencer. The young man didn’t even have a chance to breathe when she turned, faced him and fired twice. The cop was thrown against the wall, his lifeless body sliding to the ground. She didn’t care about him anymore.

Next, she turned to her primary target, who was on the bed, unconscious. She put the gun to his heart and pulled the trigger. The next moment, the devices monitoring his vital functions went crazy. She covered the gun with a folded sheet, put it under her arm and walked out of the room, leaving the trolley where it was. She had walked only five steps down the corridor when the doctor and nurse rushed out of the next room and into the patient’s room.

Two streets away she threw a few coins into the call box, dialed and waited.

“Yes?” said the voice at the other end.

“Cleaning’s over,” she said and hung up.

Five

Germania, 161 CE

Day after day, Orneus slowly got closer to the Roman military camp. On his way he found farmsteads and villages, all burnt to the ground. Large areas destroyed by fighting, the ground trampled by horses’ hooves. He was finding impoverished people everywhere. They were wearing tattered rags, starving, dirty and in poor health. Sometimes they attacked his entourage. Then his men had to act against them.

When they stumbled upon the Roman patrol, he sighed with relief. They were much more civilized people and it was possible to travel with them. Or, in other words, to buy their protection. After that, the journey went without any further complications.

A few days later they reached the Roman camp Carnuntum. The area looked very grim. There were a few houses, mostly brothels and public houses, the rest of the buildings were burnt to the ground. Beggars were wandering aimlessly around. It wasn’t safe even during the day, so he couldn’t imagine the nightlife there.

He saw a dead body of what was probably a German near the road, the type of clothing identified it. Crows were swarming around it, cawing as they were tearing at its flesh. It made him sick. As a Greek, coming from a nation that was supposed to care about physical and mental health, and surrounded by beauty and fostering art, he tried not to notice the destruction. But he couldn’t retreat; he had a job to do. He had promised his friend. There was no going back.

They arrived at the camp.

Orneus sent one of his men for the officer and asked him for a meeting with the camp commander. His request was accompanied by a bribe and a present for the commander.

For now, he received permission to set up a temporary camp.

On the second day before lunch, an envoy came to his tent. He bowed respectfully.

“Blessed merchant, my lord, Honorable Publius Decimus Maximilianus was pleased by thy present. He decided to invite you for dinner. He will send an entourage.”

“Thank you. Please tell your lord it will be an honor to dine with so eminent a man.”

The envoy bowed again and left the tent.

Orneus was alone once again. It was already happening. Now he needed permission from the most powerful Roman in this area, then he could establish his first contacts. He had to be prudent. He knew he would be reviewed and appraised. It was necessary to maintain presence of mind. He couldn’t act rashly. Today he would be an observer only. He knew Romans loved exuberant feasts with multitudes of wine, women and wild sex. He supposed that tonight it would be moderate. In this part of the country, visits of Greek merchants were a pleasant refreshment to the boring stereotype. All right, he would give them what they wanted.

He opened his big travel chest, picking out an ornamented box. He disengaged the lock and opened the lid. Inside was a beautiful dagger. It was a gift from his brother Nassioss. A beautiful piece of work. And valuable. An appropriate gift for a Roman.

The day passed quickly. It was marked by expectation. Orneus walked and explored the area. He was surveying the surroundings looking for the ideal place for his public house. He didn’t want to be too far from the camp, because of the Germanic threat, but not too close either.

The most suitable location seemed to be where the stream flowed into the major river. There was a black building, which had burnt down during past battles. It was convenient for several reasons. It would be very easy to escape down the river in a boat. It was approximately seven hundred steps from the Roman military camp and in case of danger he could hide inside their fortification. The stream provided sufficient water for necessary hygiene, cooking and to water any animals. For himself, he would bring water from one of the mountain wells. He knew about the poor quality of surface water and he didn’t intend to become a victim of some epidemic. At a place like this, where hundreds of people were concentrated, it wasn’t possible to avoid them. Yes, this place would be ideal.

Suddenly, a commotion broke out behind his back. Annoyed, he turned and saw his people, who formed his own entourage, scuffling with an individual. A stranger was kneeling with hands tied behind the back.

“Sir, she was holding this,” said one of slaves, and showed Orneus a dirty knife.

He looked at the person closely and saw she was German. Her clothes consisted of a few shreds of canvas and leather. Long filthy hair was falling into her face. Her eyes were full of hate. Her emaciated figure aroused pity in Orneus. She was breathing shallowly. Her mouth, twisted by hate, pronounced words fitfully. “You disgusting Roman snake!… killer!… you!…”

She didn’t finish. One of the men hit her across the mouth, splitting her lip, and blood flowed down her chin. She spat it out and spewed out new streams of curses.

Orneus looked at the woman pensively. During his life, he had travelled the whole world. He had known many cultures, cities and people. This woman fascinated him. Maybe because of the huge pain in her soul, maybe because of her loneliness. He was also by himself, in a hostile environment. Despite the fact that he was dressed splendidly and washed clean, they both shared the loneliness.

“I am not Roman,” he said finally.

When the woman heard the reply spoken in German, similar to her own language, she was dumbfounded. She apparently had no knowledge of the world, and appeared not to know about other nations except Germans and Romans. But she also intuitively felt the special bond linking her with this man. He engendered confidence in her. She didn’t doubt he was telling the truth. A Roman in his arrogance wouldn’t speak her native language.

“Why did you attack me?” he asked calmly.

She didn’t answer. He didn’t expect it either. He was a stranger to her. Somebody who could end her life with a wave of his hand. He would give her time.

“I invite you into my tent,” he said.

When she froze, he added quickly, “Don’t worry. You are my guest now. Nobody will hurt you.”

Then he commanded the slaves, “Wash her, comb her hair and dress her. She will share my dinner today.”

In the meantime, he continued his survey of the area. However, his mind kept returning to the German woman. He hadn’t experienced the atrocity of war firsthand. He was roaming the world, uplifted. It was true that he could profit the most from a country affected by war. Supplying enemy camps with weapons, food and draught animals was lucrative for him. But he had never thought about the impact of war on ordinary people. It was only a trade for him.

A pleasant smell was diffusing through the tent. Orneus had a liking for fine cuisine in any situation. He loved to wash down a good meal with fine Greek wine. It evoked a good mood in him.

He sat behind the low table. The slave started to bring in the food. The intense fragrances caused a gentle tickling in his stomach. With all his exploring he was starving. A slave parted the tent opening and the German woman walked in.

Bathed, combed and dressed in a simple Greek dress she looked like a Goddess of Olympus. Her body was slender, solid, hardened by a tough life. It was a harsh beauty, combined with the simplicity of the white robe. She wore one tortoise comb in her black hair and no jewelry. It wasn’t necessary. Now she was bathed and clean, he saw her face was pretty and shapely. Her brown eyes were the most noticeable. There wasn’t hate in them like before, just vigilance.

“I am glad that you accepted my invitation,” he welcomed her.

He led her to the table and sat her down opposite himself. Then he turned to the slave. “Leave us alone, Lucius.”

The slave bowed and left silently.

There was a silence. To start conversation, he said, “Go ahead, help yourself. You are my guest. And you are certainly hungry.”

She wasn’t moving, so he started to eat. He was slowly nibbling a duck leg and washing it down with wine. The German woman gradually overcame her shyness and took a piece of fruit from the bowl. She was trying to eat slowly, but it was obvious she hadn’t eaten for a long time. When he saw her confusion, he smiled.

“What is funny about me? You have never seen a hungry person? There are no poor people in your country?” she reacted wildly.

“I am sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to offend you. There are poor people in every country, even the richest ones. I am not laughing at you. I am just glad you enjoy the food.”

It calmed her. This time, she smiled too. It was a shy smile. It surely hadn’t appeared on her face for a very long time. She was very pretty, only her broken lip marred her.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Runa. It means Lucky Day in our language.”

“Lucky day,” he repeated thoughtfully. When had she had a really lucky day?

“My name is Orneus. I am a merchant. And as I said, I am not Roman. I come from Greek Athens.”

“What’s Athens?”

“A beautiful, sunny country, far from here. It is by the sea. There are wonderful cities. Fertile ground gives livelihood to large numbers of people. There are plenty of grapes, olives and so many other things. Greek wine is the most delicious in the world. And Greek philosophy is full of great ideas,” he began to warm up.

“Sorry,” she said, “I have no clue what you are talking about.”

“Oh,” he realized, “and would you like to?”

“Would I like to what?”

“To understand about things. Would you like to learn more about the world? The world is huge. Look,” he took an apple from the bowl, “this is the Roman Empire.”

He put the apple on the table and took a fig. “This is Greece.” He put the fig next to the apple. He wanted to express the difference in the size of territories. He thought for a while. Then he took one peppercorn and put it next to the apple, too. “This is your country, the area where we are now.”

Runa looked at it with wide eyes. “Gods, it is not possible!” she shouted. “Our land is huge. You can’t see its end even from the highest mountain.”

“Yes, yes. But compared to the Roman Empire it is just like this peppercorn.”

“That is horrible! It means we could never defeat them. It’s over.”

“Wait, don’t judge rashly. It is not possible to move all resources of so great an empire here. This is just one place, where Romans wage the war.”

He paused. He thought about one thing for a while. Now he decided. He looked at the woman seriously and said, “Stay with me. I will teach you more. Besides, I am alone here. And I have to stay here some time. We could help each other.”

“So this is your point? I will not share a bed with you. I am no fallen woman. Do you understand?”

Now he started to laugh aloud. “It is a good idea, but it is not exactly what I meant. I swear I will not make you, if you don’t want to.”

“Fine.” She nodded after a while. “I agree.”

“Tell me something about yourself,” he asked.

Then he sat listening to her story.

Runa was born between two wars. The local tribes had been leading brutal struggles for their territory. It was slaughter. Although, during her childhood there was peace. Except a few minor scuffles between families, they had lived in balance.

Then the Romans walked into their lives. First they arrived as merchants, making business contacts. She was looking forward to their arrival as a child. They brought something new into their lives. They had beautiful goods. Delicate fabrics of different colors, jewelry for women, practical household items and much more. After them, envoys of the Roman Empire followed and they started to conclude political alliances with tribal chiefs.

Then it all had begun.

They planted discord and, even more, lust for power in their hearts. New wars broke out, much larger than before. People were dying in the thousands. Women and children were left alone and helpless. At the same time, the slave trade began to flourish. Several tribes were capturing people from other tribes to sell them. It was a pretext for future feuds between families. An infinite round of slaughter and poverty. Then she lost her husband and two sons. The third son survived. The whole area turned into a wasteland. Houses were burnt down and fields were flattened by soldiers. That’s when the Romans joined this chaos again. They didn’t act like merchants anymore. Under the false pretense of helping one of tribe chiefs, their whole army arrived. They totally destroyed the impoverished land. Until then it was just a well-guarded frontier of the Roman Empire. It was followed by strengthening of the soldiers. The existing natural border, the river Danube, had lost its significance. Romans were expanding deeper into the area on the other shore and devouring one weakened tribe after another.

When they killed her husband and sons, they hit her on the head, knocking her out and then raped her savagely. When she woke up, she wanted only death. Then her lust for death turned to a lust for revenge. She came here and when she saw a noble Roman looking around the area, she wanted to kill him. “And the rest is known.”

“Yes, but instead of a noble Roman you chose a poor Greek merchant.”

“You are not poor,” she said seriously. “You are a better person than you think. There is a lot of emotion in you, even if it’s hidden under the mask.”

“What mask?” he asked curiously.

“The mask of the merchant, for example. Cold tone, no emotion and thereafter you take a starving, powerless woman to your tent and offer her shelter and food. Be careful, I might not be the only one who will penetrate your character. Besides, why are you planning to stay here? I see that the horrors of war don’t leave you alone and you don’t feel comfortable here. There has to be more to it.”

“You are very perceptive. As I said, you will learn more. But I can reveal my heart only to a person who I trust completely. It needs time.”

“I understand.”

“Glad to hear that. Soon I have another important meeting. With one of these disgusting Romans, as you said. Remember one thing – if you want to ruin your enemy, you have to consider your steps carefully. Unless you are under my protection, I forbid you to do anything without my permission. Is that clear?”

“It is. I will not disappoint you.”

Six

Czech Republic, 2002

A muddy blue Skoda stopped next to the sidewalk. A tall young man got out of the car. He looked around carefully, but didn’t notice anything strange. Older houses, many of which needed new plaster, lined the street.

It was nine in the morning. The street was deserted. Just a few pensioners were walking along the road. A stray dog was rummaging through rubbish bins. When the man went closer, the dog growled and ran away. The man ignored him and went on his way. He arrived at the estate agency Malina Estates.

He looked around one more time and walked in.

A secretary was sitting behind the desk in a small reception area. She was an elderly lady, probably a pensioner augmenting her pension. Looking at her, she fitted well in this environment. Everything here gave an old and ramshackle impression.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, Mr. Novak.” She lifted her head and put on a servile expression. “Wait a minute, I’ll announce you.” She picked up the phone.

It all looked like a farce. On his first visit, there had been no secretary. He felt this circus was happening because of him. The owner had hired her to make a good impression on him. Okay, he would go along with their game.

He knew everything about this firm. Long before his arrival, it was checked by Beck’s people. The estate agency had been on the verge of collapse for a long time. It had no hope of surviving another year. That’s why they had chosen it. A little, inconspicuous estate agency, which would do its work quietly and without undue attention.

“Mr. Malina will receive you now. Follow me, please.”

She opened the door and led him in.

They entered the office, which was a little larger than reception. The yellowed plaster didn’t look any more pleasant and there was an old, beaten-up green carpet on the floor. On the left, next to the wall, were filing cabinets. The only new object in the office was a massive desk and a white curtain covering the window. During his first visit he had noticed the missing handle. The window couldn’t be opened.

It has to be horrible in summer, he thought.

A pile of papers on the desk looked too tidy and were certainly pulled out on purpose, just before he walked in. He knew that besides his matters, the estate agency didn’t engage in anything else.

The man behind the desk was middle-aged, with a cunning expression on his face. He stood up from his chair, and with exaggerated cordiality, stepped up to Werner with his hand outstretched. He looked a little like the owner of Used Cars Sedlacek. “Good morning, Mr. Novak. Nice to see you again. Did you come to talk about your business?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Let’s look at it. Would you like coffee? No? Fine, so where is it… You know,” he said importantly, “we are very busy at the moment. Summer season. People buy and sell madly.”

He was bluffing of course, although he did it very well. If Werner didn’t know the truth, maybe he would trust it. It made no sense to let the man know he was lying. Rather, he would leave him with the conviction that he bought it. While the man was collecting up the papers off the table, Werner opened the briefcase and pulled out a bunch of banknotes.

“Mr. Malina, I see you have a lot of other duties. The business that I represent for my clients from Brno has great importance for us. So great that they are willing to pay exclusively for your time,” he said, playing with banknotes.

Malina’s eyes sparkled. He didn’t expect such huge success with his acting performance. The worried look on his face disappeared. It was replaced by a plotting smile.

“I understand,” he said, despite not understanding at all.

“My clients want to purchase the properties for commercial geological research. They want to start with the building of a recreation center and adjacent buildings as soon as possible.” It was a version especially prepared for this idiot. No archeological research – instead, time travel and world domination. Only a few insiders knew. Eduard Beck himself had given him the honor of being one of them.

“I am glad you can accommodate us,” said Werner, handing him money, “and I hope this small payment will cover your loss of profits from other projects.”

Malina took the money and stuck it in his jacket pocket. The amount represented the total annual income of the office. He was satisfied.

Werner let him revel in his own glory for a while, and then he moved on to ordinary issues.

“So, how is it going?”

“Well,” he started, looking at his notebook, “it goes as we expected. This section with an area of about one hundred and twenty hectares has been completely purchased. There are some problems in the southern area. There are a large number of owners. The vast majority of parcels aren’t settled, thus nobody has a letter of ownership.”

“How is that possible?” asked Werner-Novak.

“There are properties where deceased people are documented as the owner, and the present owners are entitled to it on the basis of inheritance. It’s a little complicated.” He pulled out the sheet of paper with an overview of the critical parcels and their size.

“Fine,” spoke Werner coldly, “double the purchase price per square meter and promise to pay all costs for assessment and transfer of land.”

“But it’s useless. It’s just a small fallow area of land, overgrown by shrubs.”

“It is the land we are looking for, so do as I instruct you to!”

“Yes, of course.” he said, taken aback at the harsh tone. “Then there’s the thing with Josef Sabota. That’s the old farmer I mentioned to you the last time. The one who didn’t want to sell his property under any circumstances. He holds strategic land in the center of your interest. He wanted to die on this land and had an accident. Imagine that! His tractor overturned while he was carrying wood. It killed him instantly. On the second day after the funeral I visited his heirs. He had a son and daughter. They agreed with the purchase after much persuasion. I finally managed to convince them it would be better to sell. They signed the contract for all ten hectares.”

Werner was only half listening. He knew about it already. The old man’s death was his work, after all. He was a tough one, but they left nothing to chance. He was the one who went personally to check and make sure the old man was dead.

Outwardly, he nodded impassively. “Yes, I remember. I’m glad everything’s all right now. Well done. My clients will be pleased. Soon we can start with geological research. Still keep complete discretion, of course.”

He rose to leave. Malina escorted him to the door obligingly.

When he heard the car had left, he called his secretary. He picked one banknote from the bunch, gave it to her and said, “Thank you, Anna. I’ll call you when I need you again. You were great.”

“Thank you. Anytime,” she answered. She took the banknote and left.

Germany, 2002

Eduard Beck was just finishing his final preparation. He was giving his last orders. Soon he would leave Germany and never come back. Actually, he would. Not in the present time, but in the future. He would raise Germany to the top of world, to the position where it belonged by rights. They, Germans, would be superior to any other nation. After all, they should have been a long time ago. Mistakes had always stepped into their plans. Incompetent people, stupid coincidences and so on. This time it would be different; he would look after it. Fate and history had chosen him to fulfill this honorable mission. And he would. He wouldn’t fail.

He had been so close before. That time, six years ago, the stupid man Rosenbach had stopped him. He had sent him to jail for tax evasion. He had no idea what was going on. And Beck didn’t forgive him anything. He was no longer among the living. He’d had it coming. This time, everything would go smoothly.

Even after leaving Germany, he had to ensure there was work for what was left of his company after the sale. He had maintained ownership of his private business and research sector. His absence and inaction could lead to unexpected situations. Therefore, he had prepared several plans of action that his people would be working on, while he would be fulfilling his own mission. He regretted that he couldn’t take them with him. They were reliable, well-trained and valuable for his activities. However, too many Germans in the area where the dramatic shoot-out between his men and the police had occurred a few years ago might arouse suspicion. He’d take just a few seasoned men and Diebner’s team. This experienced genetic engineer had already served him well several times. Thanks to him, he was enjoying youthfulness and health, although he had been walking the earth for a long time. He would need him again.

His plans were, in fact, far-reaching. He was planning to join Hitler and help him win the war, using the latest technologies. For this purpose, he took several powerful laptops and a large number of disks with information about the latest military and industrial technology. He also focused on the historical records of the Second World War. He was especially interested in a particular layout, and equipment of individual units of the Allies and their methods. After the war, he’d start to exterminate Slavic nations, which would leave only the required number of people for slave labor.

To occupy and master such a large area, it would be necessary to reproduce rapidly. He would release the order saying there would be at least six children per family. When the population reached a necessary number, they would conquer the rest of the world. With new weapons, he’d bring everyone to their knees. It would be the centerpiece of his plans. He realized that this vision would require some time – several decades according to preliminary calculations. He had no illusions that Dr. Diebner could keep him alive so long, but using the Gate, it could happen. Thus, he let events flow in the direction they had started in.

He’d progress step-by-step. First, he had to buy the land on which they might find clues to the Time Gate, and just a minimum circumventing of the law, if it was necessary.

A year ago, he had received a report from Werner about the development of the situation in the Bohemian Forest. It went well, they had already purchased a large number of the properties. Today he’d set out on a journey. He’d stay in the settlement and from there he would be able to manage the other steps. The rest of his team would be moved separately, one part through Austria, the second part through Austria and Slovakia. Thus, they wouldn’t arouse attention, and tomorrow night they would all meet in the Bohemian Forest in the Czech Republic.

He turned to his driver, who was waiting patiently. Franz was his longtime companion, chauffeur and bodyguard.

“We are leaving.”

Seven

Germania, 162 CE

Almost nine months had passed since Orneus’s arrival at the Roman camp Carnuntum. Shortly after arriving, he had received permission to build a public house on the land he had chosen. He bought a house to live in and he became friends with many Roman senior officers, even with the camp commander Publius Decimus Maximilianus.

As he got to know the man, he was able to recognize his weaknesses. The greatest of them was his enormous frustration and unfulfillment. He was the descendant of a famous family, versed in rhetoric, military dealings and other areas, which ought to have predestined him to a great career. Instead, he found himself in this wretched and forgotten place. Although he looked important initially, with the passage of time and the amount of wine he drank, his state of mind was becoming exceedingly weaker. It seemed he was the favorite among his soldiers, but this didn’t satisfy him. He longed for fame.

The commander’s abode was one of the few stone buildings and full of spectacular artistic treasures. There were a few rare scrolls and the equipment was high-technology for its time. However, it was a poor consolation for his wounded self-esteem. Each time he looked through the large windows it reminded him painfully where this place was - at the end of the civilized world. Instead of being a famous captain and winner, walking through the streets of Rome, he was just an ordinary commander of border troops. They didn’t even lead any invasions that would make them rich. This land was poor and underdeveloped and its inhabitants were just ordinary miserable barbarians. There was no gold, precious stones, or artistic jewels. Nothing at all. For the few slaves he sold to buyers, he earned just a little money. He was trapped.

Marcus Aurelius expressed patronage only to his favorites. Until recently, it was his co-Emperor Lucius Verus and commander Ovidius Cassius.

Cassius had become famous thanks to fighting in the east of the Roman Empire, in Mesopotamia. He had beaten Parthia, earned fame and would earn a place in Roman history. And why not? He had expanded the territory of the Empire and also brought a rich booty with him. Now they were both dead. He was alive, but what sort of life was it? Unworthy of the name Maximilianus of Scipio.

Orneus listened patiently to the camp commander’s outbursts of self-pity. He was drinking wine slowly to keep his mind clear. At first, he was just an attentive listener, later he began to flatter his new friend. It wasn’t right for such an important and outstanding man to be marginalized.

Today, he heard for the hundredth time Publius’s experiences from different wars he had fought through before he had arrived there. Sometimes, he even gasped admiringly. After some time and the amount of wine consumed, the commander loosened up so much he began to openly criticize some of the imperial decrees, and was declaiming speeches on how to manage the Empire.

Then Orneus ventured to do something unheard of. Although he wondered how to introduce this intrigue, he still couldn’t overcome his fear of discovery.

Now, encouraged by wine and the good mood in the room, he dared.

He said ostensibly and casually, “You are absolutely right. Gods, it’s true! You are the person who should rule this Empire.”

Maximilianus looked at him with drunken, bloodshot eyes. Despite the alcohol, he realized what his friend had just said. It was an obvious betrayal of the Emperor. It could be the beginning of a revolt as well. The punishment for that was death.

A weak drunkenness disappeared from Orneus immediately. He started to think frantically.

Now he will call guards and let them execute me. Why did I say that? I should have waited. I acted rashly, he thought desperately. Sorry, Peter, I couldn’t complete the mission.

“Guards!” yelled Maximilianus.

This is the end. Orneus gripped the cup rigidly and drank for the last time. The end.

“Yes, sir?”

“Leave us alone. Everybody out! My friend and I wish to discuss important philosophical questions and we don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Sir? Shall I leave, too?” asked the slave, who had been serving them all evening.

“Everybody. I said everybody! Get out!” he yelled.

Soon they were alone in the room. Orneus had to overcome the desire not to breathe aloud from relief. He was moving on thin ice tonight. He still wasn’t sure what was happening.

His companion calmed down quickly and asked, “Are you serious?”

Orneus nodded. He had been preparing for this situation for months. When he saw the commander’s dissatisfaction, he decided to use it. He was supporting the ego of this man systematically, and this night was a natural result of that.

He breathed in and spoke. He was careful to make his voice steady. “I am sure about it. I have been considering it a long time. After all, you know, my friend…”

He let the sentence fade, unfinished. He leant over to his friend and dropped his voice dramatically.

“You know, my friend, it’s important to be careful. There are a lot of envious persons who could do great harm. You are a great man and born commander. In contrast, Marcus Aurelius is just an empty philosopher. He is surely scared of you, that’s why he sent you here. Moreover, I think that he is still scared of you, a great commander, brave and honorable Publius Decimus Maximilianus of Scipio, even when you are so far from Roma. Surely he ordered them to spy on you. There are snoopers of his here, I am certain. This slave, who was serving us tonight, for example. What if he is one of them? What if he was chosen to poison you? Such a shame for Rome! Oh, Gods, such a shame for the world! There will be no man like you on the earth anymore.”

Orneus had to control himself so that his odes didn’t sound false. He knew he had just sentenced the slave to death. He was sorry about that, but he had no choice. He had a mission; a very important mission.

The slave had heard them. He was terrified.

“Guards!” roared Maximilianus. When the guard came in, he ordered, “Take the slave, who served us and cut his head off. Go!”

When they were alone again, he looked at Orneus in a friendly manner. He even filled their wine glasses himself. “Go on,” he said to Orneus.

“Yes. The Emperor Marcus Aurelius – it’s pointless to waste breath on his name – thinks that you are in a tight corner now. But that is not true. Unknowingly, he gave you very strong weapons in your hands.”

“What weapons?” he asked curiously.

“There is a pretty big battalion under your command. Last time it was strengthened because of the Germanic threat. These men are strong soldiers, hardened by fights with barbarians. Moreover, most of them come from southern regions. They are Hispanics, Egyptians, and Italics. They hate this country as much as you do.”

“That’s right. I hate this place with all my heart. Especially the terrible winter. There is cold for almost a third of the year. And snow! Gods, each word you say is so true! What do you suggest?”

“What do I suggest?” Orneus repeated the question and thought hard. “Well first, don’t trust anybody. Just me. Everyone could be a traitor. We need information directly from Rome. I suppose, you have friends there?” He looked questioningly at Maximilianus. When he nodded, Orneus continued. “Good. It’s necessary to hold your men even closer to yourself. To become their god and father. That way, they’ll sacrifice their life for you.”

“How can I do that?”

“Raise their pay, let’s say, by one-fifth. Wait, please,” he added quickly, when he saw that Maximilianus was about to object. “I understand it is a big investment. But it will pay off. Together, we can do it. It’s not such a problem as it seems. There are no opportunities to spend money in this place, except for wine and entertainment. With your help, I will set up public houses around the camp. Under a suitable pretext, you will order the demolition of the current ones, and nobody except me will receive permission to build. Thus, we can obtain sufficient funds to finance our plans. After all, it will be the same money they will be rotating.”

“That’s incredible! I was thinking about ruling the Empire a long time ago, but I have never met such an intelligent and prudent person. I swear in my name that you will be the first man in my imperial court. You will not regret our friendship. Now let’s toast!”

“To the new Emperor!” exclaimed Orneus, quietly.

Orneus woke in the afternoon. Slaves had brought him home in the early morning. His head was as heavy as a stone and the slightest movement hurt him. Yesterday they had overdone the wine. Even though he had kept a sober mind until now. Yesterday was a very important day; he had made a great strides, which had been in preparation for a long time. Remembering, he reached for his throat. Deadly cold flooded him again. Everything could have been over. He dared to play this risky game and bet everything on a wild horse. If he had misjudged Maximilianus, he would be dead. He’d handled it and now he could go on. He got up from the bed and drank fresh water. The drought in his mouth disappeared a little. He called a slave.

“Prepare a bath and clothes for me.”

After a while, he was relaxing in the large tub. He inhaled the delicate aroma of herbs blissfully; it was beneficial to body and mind and he breathed in deeply. This was what he needed.

He was analyzing yesterday’s talk from all sides again. He hadn’t been quite honest with Maximilianus. It wasn’t true that profits from his expanded public houses business would cover expenses for a raise in the soldiers’ pay. At least, not initially. It didn’t matter, he would pay anything needed from his own pocket until it was fully functioning.

He stood up and let slaves dry and oil him. Then he moved to his desk thoughtfully and picked up an abacus. He started to recount routinely. Numbers were his life. He was counting a long time and in the evening he already knew the cost of preliminary expenses. He also calculated the approximate profits the public houses would earn, then estimated the required number of inns and their supply.

He looked at the numbers. Then he modified them a little to look more favorable. These improvements he wrote on Egyptian papyrus, which he used only for special occasions. He would show this inventory to Maximilianus at the next meeting. He sighed contently.

The slave at the door announced the visit. Runa walked in. After the months they had shared accommodation, she became more beautiful. Solid and regular meals had worked miracles. Her slim figure was attractively curvaceous now. He often couldn’t sleep thinking of her full breasts and luscious bottom. She became his confidante and friend. After a time, he wanted more. In addition, she was his informant about Germanic activities.

“Hello, Runa. Good to see you,” he said. It was true. He liked to be in her company.

“Nice to see you, too,” she answered and added with a reproachful voice, “I wanted to meet you by morning, but your slave didn’t want to let me in.”

“You should be thankful, I looked terrible. We drank a lot of wine last night. I did succeed in one thing. Come, sit next to me. I would like to talk with you.”

He waited until she had sat down comfortably. With love, he watched her take a fig from the bowl on the table. She had fallen in love with this southern fruit.

“Runa, I was reborn last night. Just one wrong step and we wouldn’t have met.”

He paused. He didn’t know how to continue. Thoughts had been swirling around his head for a long time. He didn’t even want to admit it, he was an older man and had lived his entire life alone on the road. The only women he had known were occasional harlots. He had never felt anything for a woman, apart from thinking they were nice objects. Until now.

“Be my wife,” he said suddenly, feeling his face heat up.

She looked into his eyes. She hesitated for a while. Then she smiled cheerfully and said playfully, “I thought that you weren’t considering it. Despite my being just a poor barbarian in your eyes…”

“That’s not true!” he interrupted her.

“Despite that I am just a poor barbarian to you,” she continued, “I am like other women. And after all, we have shared a bed for three months. I have strong feelings for you, too. I would like to become your wife. But remember, I won’t stand any rival. If I see you with another woman, I will kill you and her. Rely on that!” she said without mercy.

“Just don’t overreact.” He calmed her anger with laughter. “It will not be necessary to kill anybody. I promise, I won’t look at any other woman.”

“I have got just one condition. I saw a man in the public house. He is the commander of the Romans who killed my family. He has to die. Thus, I can bury my past and hatred.”

He stared at her, totally shocked. Suddenly, he realized where he was. This wasn’t his beloved Athens. Human life had no price here. And it would be worse if the war broke out. He had already been embroiled in several intrigues. Yesterday, he had sentenced one slave to death and soon, if his plans worked, he would strike the Romans deep blows. If Maximilianus rebelled against Aurelius, there would be a lot of Roman blood spilled. If it didn’t start a civil war, cleansing would occur. It could repel Romans from this area. Tonight he would take his slightly ‘improved calculations’ to Maximilianus.

There was also another major factor that he had to consider. Winter was coming and it meant a long period of forced inactivity for soldiers. It gave them enough time for other activities, like cards, women and wine. They would spend more money for that than usual. It was important to dominate local taverns and pubs as soon as possible. Besides, he suggested paying a few people who would spread praise. Together they had compiled a few heroic stories about his work. Some of them were true, some of them a little improved, some of them totally fictitious. Did it matter? A lie became truth if repeated a hundred times. It was also necessary to strengthen the lines of their own spies, know everything that was going on and what was being said in the camp.

In the end, he mentioned the Roman officer to Maximilianus, telling him the man was a murderer. His word meant much amongst the men and it wasn’t wise to let it go unnoticed. But the commander’s name couldn’t be linked with his punishment. He had to become the father, the model of the ideal leader.

The officer who Orneus mentioned was, coincidentally, the same person who killed Runa’s family. Nobody saw him again. He vanished without a trace.

Marcus Aurelius, the world’s most powerful man at that time, was sitting in his office. He spent most of his time there. He indulged in the study of old philosophers. He had never considered himself a big philosopher. Other people said that he was. He often discussed it with himself and wrote down some of his ideas. Now he was again compiling one of his texts. He named it ‘Ta eis heauton’ – ‘To himself’. He wanted the world to remember him, not as a winning captain, but as a philosopher who was thinking about the world. He realized he was just a half philosopher. He couldn’t let his ideas carry him away; he had to rule the most powerful Empire. It also included such practical things as war with other countries. Recently, he had finally managed to defeat Parthia after long and hard fighting.

Now they were recovering their strength for another campaign. This time, he wanted to focus on the north. He was preparing a massive offensive against the Germans. He needed more time. His legions had suffered big losses in the east. Some had died from an unknown epidemic. Hundreds of men a day died like flies, covered with festering ulcers. Any doctor of the Empire couldn’t cope with it as they had no idea what it was. The worst was that after a great victory and triumphant return to Rome, they had brought the disease with them. The city was now near extinction. The population dramatically reduced. Most of those who were not infected left the city as quickly as possible. He had already commenced new recruitment into the army. This time, slaves and gladiators were recruited too. Some Romans were criticizing this. Never mind. If they were dying in arenas to entertain the crowds, they could also die for the good of Rome. Everybody made sacrifices.

He looked at the man sitting in the corner quietly. Quintus was used to not interrupting the Emperor’s thoughts. He considered him a great man and philosopher.

“Quintus,” he spoke into the silence, “what do you think about it? Is it the right time to attack?”

“My Lord, the east is firmly secured. The Legions have reported enough recruited men. It was a good move to recruit slaves. The Imperial treasury has recovered after victory over Parthia. Rich war booty will allow us to lead a campaign in the north for several years. Even factoring in inflation. This seems to be all right. Besides, I think this war will be very costly. We can’t rely on any great booty in those areas.”

“I know. With this war, I need guarantees. Rome needs it. We have to nip the Germans in the bud. If we give them time to form bigger units, it could be too late.”

“Yes, we both know that. And also a few others are looking into the future. But the masses don’t understand it.”

“And that’s the reason I have to carry the responsibility on my shoulders. I have to know what has to be done for the good of Rome. And I know. What’s news from Carnuntum?”

“Publius Decimus Maximilianus is too modest in his reporting. We have some spies in there, too. They told me he indulges in wine.”

“It’s the weakness of many leaders. I have no doubts about him; he is totally loyal to me. He understands the necessity of invasion to Marcomanni and thus his importance. He has been there several years. He knows the region and local people intimately. He has the support of his men. And don’t forget, he comes from a famous family.”

“In this thing, I agree with you. I heard legionaries respect him. Two months ago he even increased their pay from his own pocket.”

“Now you see that. He fully understands the situation. The war with the Germans is imminent. Send Gaius Tiberius to him, I will write a letter for Maximilianus. He has my absolute trust.”

History had shown that even such great men and thinkers can be mistaken about people.

Gaius Tiberius had the honor to be Caesar’s messenger in this important matter. He had been on the road for two weeks. He had left sunny Rome and soon he crossed the Alps. In the town of Aquileia, at the crossroads of several Roman ways, he turned onto the northern road, leading to the province Pannonia.

The road went quite smoothly. He carried the message. They drove two heavy-shod carts with pay for the military camp Carnuntum and adjacent soldiers. His entourage consisted of thirty fully-armed men. This group, formed by experienced veterans of many battles, was tasked to avert any problems.

They were moving quite quickly. Except to sleep in military barracks, they didn’t stop at any towns. That meant, no sleeping in public houses, but in well-guarded makeshift camps, which they set up every night. The more they moved away from Rome, the more they felt threatened. The almighty hand of the Emperor hadn’t such power in these regions. They had to rely on themselves and their skills. The country was wild, and sparsely populated. They passed an old and dense forest. Any kind of danger could be lurking inside. On the way, they found a trail of old struggles. Burnt houses, skeletons of people and domestic animals. But nature was already winning over the last traces of humans; plants and weeds were taking over fields and the ruins of houses. In places, young trees had appeared. Tragedy had taken place a long time ago and after a few more years, no trace would remain. The road had lost its quality, too. Instead of the classical Roman paved roads, there was just a sort of muddy track, like wounds on the face of the ground. Nights were cold and mornings shrouded in thick fog, filling them with restlessness and anxiety.

One morning they saw a silhouette in the milky fog. Just for a moment. As the fog cleared a little, they saw it was a man. He was standing near the limit of visibility. He wore a leather vest and some kind of trousers. He was holding a spear with a metal point. He looked violent, just like the nature around him. He stood in silence. Then he lifted the hand holding the spear, waved it threateningly, and suddenly disappeared in the fog. As if he had never existed. A man? A phantom? It was possible anything was there, at the end of the world.

Gaius Tiberius looked around nervously. Soldiers were standing with their swords drawn, waiting for a possible attack. It seemed they weren’t concerned about the situation at all. Living on the edge was their bread and butter.

The attack wasn’t coming. His heart started to beat regularly again. Outwardly, he didn’t show his emotions; he couldn’t show any sign of weakness. He was the envoy of Rome and bearer of the seal of Marcus Aurelius.

He pulled himself together. The fog would disappear in an hour and the world would become specific shapes again. Only two days left. In two days, they would be in Carnuntum. Finally, he would take a bath and wash away the road dust. Perhaps he would amuse himself with a barbarian.

He turned to the commander. “Break camp. Send two men to take a look at that place. If they find someone, I want him alive.”

“I will, oh Honorable,” the commander said curtly and turned to the soldiers.

“We are breaking camp. Soon we will continue on…”

That was as far as he got. He didn’t finish the sentence. A long spear flew out of the dense fog and hit him in the right thigh. He looked at it, totally shocked. He tried to lift his sword, but had no strength. Then he fell to the ground and didn’t move.

Germans poured out of the fog, and with terrible demonic screaming, rushed into the camp. The air was full of swishing spears and arrows. The soldier next to Tiberius fell, hit by three arrows at the same time. Another soldier near him was just lifting his sword when one of the Germans cut him down with his axe.

Tiberius stood with sword drawn but couldn’t orientate himself in the turmoil. He was looking at the destruction in amazement. This was his first experience of real fighting.

Suddenly, a German holding a double-edged axe high above his head emerged from the chaos.

Time slowed down.

The German was coming closer as if in slow motion, his face covered in blood and twisted in anger. He opened his mouth and screamed primevally. The strength of the man’s voice pinned Tiberius to the spot. His feet stuck to the ground; he couldn’t move. He could only watch his approaching death. The axe was going to meet with his skull.

Brutus, his friend and bodyguard, was suddenly at his side and repelled the attack at the last moment. The attacker fell, an arrow buried in his neck.

Tiberius awoke from his stupor. Long hours of training, which each young patrician had to pass, suddenly surfaced. He swished his sword vehemently and repelled another attack. In a second, he changed his position and cut into the enemy’s throat. Blood welled and splashed his face. Surprisingly, it calmed him. He had got through tough training and now he realized he was in the same situation as his soldiers.

He joined the combat turmoil. In rapid succession he wiped out another two Germans. They didn’t scare him anymore. He was acting instinctively, didn’t have to think about his moves. He repelled another charge, directed at his head, during which he dropped the sword. He jumped aside to avoid a spear. He grabbed its wooden handle, bent one knee and threw the attacker over his shoulder gracefully. Falling, the attacker dropped the spear and spread out on the ground. He started to rise immediately. Tiberius hit him on the neck with the blunt end. In a second he spun, the spear still in his hand, and stabbed. At the same time, he grabbed his sword off the ground, and thrust it into the enemy’s belly. He earned some injuries himself, but did not notice them in the heat of battle.

Suddenly, a spear hit his front breast shield hard. It was thrown from a short distance, so he didn’t go through his armor. The hit threw Tiberius to the ground. He flipped over fast onto his right side, a heavy axe narrowly missing his chest. He stopped another dangerous blow to his head. They remained wedged in deadly embrace. The German pushed with his entire weight against his sword.

Tiberius couldn’t hold out much longer. The pressure was becoming unbearable. He had to do something. He bent his left knee up and pushed his enemy away. In the next moment, he brought up his foot and kicked his enemy in the crotch. The German’s eyes closed and he screamed in pain. The pressure eased. Tiberius pushed the attacker off him. He spun the sword in his palm and stabbed into the hollow between arm and neck, hitting the heart and killing the man instantly. Then Roman soldiers started to gather around him.

During the next few minutes the Romans lost nine more men.

But the barbarians were no better off. When they lost the initial moment of surprise, it gave Tiberius’s experienced veterans time to take position around their leader. They set up shields in battle formation, called the Tortoise. From that moment the Germanic attack lost its striking power. Their arrows and spears hit Roman shields harmlessly. Romans were keeping formation. Men in the front line held shields, while the second line with spears was mowing and attacking Germans. More and more waves of onslaughts were coming. Assaults were less dangerous, because they were slowed down by dead bodies between the German and Roman formation. Although the attackers were greatly superior, their losses were too huge to be able to defeat the Romans.

Suddenly, a horn sounded from the left. The attack stopped instantly.

Soon, only Romans remained on the battlefield. The Germans disappeared, carrying away their dead warriors. Before they left, they robbed the camp and what they couldn’t take, they destroyed and burned to the ground.

Soldiers remained in battle formation for protection, then started to survey the area in pairs. They could not stop the destruction and still remain in battle formation.

Now, with the fighting stopped, it was time to calculate the damage. Their losses were terrible. Half the Roman entourage had died in the battle. All survivors had some wounds. Some of them were at the end of their journey. Together, only nine able-bodied men out of the thirty-five that had left Rome remained to fight, including Tiberius. He had survived this attack.

The camp was in ruins. Barbarians had burned everything they could find. Horses, treasury with military pay and their supply of food had disappeared. The most serious problem was lack of water. They managed to save only one sack, but it was damaged. It wasn’t enough. The previous days they stumbled upon water only twice. It seemed this part of the country was much drier. They were passing through flat country, where it was difficult to find water. They had no food.

Tiberius looked around. He saw his men were exhausted by the fighting. At the southern end they had made a makeshift hospital for the wounded. The fog was receding slowly and it promised to be a sunny day. The sun would evaporate the last of the water. The situation was serious. They had to move as soon as possible. They couldn’t stay where they were. A day-long march awaited them. He called the lead soldier.

“Opinnius, come here!”

“Yes, my Lord.” He stepped to him immediately.

“We won’t bury the bodies. Staying here would mean the end for us as our water supply is nearly gone. We have an important mission from the Emperor. Wounded men…” his voice trembled a little, “who can’t walk, will have to stay here. We can’t waste time. Get ready and we will go on. In two days we will be in Carnuntum. Then we will go back for them with help.”

If any of them survives, he added in his mind.

“Yes, My Lord,” said Opinnius, without any emotion. He obviously had been in a similar situation before. He turned to his men and shouted his orders. Men and soldiers prepared for the journey. It was accompanied by insults and curses. All was ready within a short time. With one last glance at the dead camp, they moved out. Behind them, they left friends and the desperate prayers of wounded soldiers.

Odora, the commander of the Germanic tribe who had attacked the Roman camp, was chewing slowly. He was sitting patiently, without movement, while the healer washed his injuries with a concoction of alcohol and herbs. This measure was intended to prevent fever and infection. Today they had suffered a terrible defeat and had huge losses. Out of sixty men attacking a small group of Romans, at most twenty had survived. They had to admit that the Romans were great warriors in close combat. But it didn’t change anything. They would still get them. Except one.

“I ordered their leader to be left alive!” he yelled at the men.

He was running an eye over every one of them slowly.

“Odora,” said one, “it’s true that men in the heat of battle attacked that Roman. Not many of them are alive anymore. Rulik was first to charge at him, but did not kill him.”

“Let the gods damn his soul. He’s lucky he’s not alive. I would cut his head off right here. My commands were clear. I want that young Roman alive. Runa wants him. No more mistakes!”

The arrival of fresh troops was announced. Good. Now he had enough men to strike at the Romans again and beat them all. This time it would be different. They had time. An enemy without horses, food or water was easy pickings. Moreover, in a foreign region too. It wasn’t necessary to sacrifice anymore men. They would kill them gradually until one remained. Runa had warned him of the abilities of Roman legionaries. He hated them, but at the same time, he respected their war strategy. He wouldn’t underestimate them again.

Only a few people knew Runa was his mother. Actually, she was a shaman and one of the leaders struggling with Romans. She was mother to all of them, but only for him she was blood mother. He came from her womb just like his brothers, who had fallen under Roman swords. He had survived twenty summers and he was still alive. Like the rest of them, he wanted to kill the enemy, but he had to admit his mother was right. He was convinced of it today, too. From now, thoughtless attacks were past. First he had to think everything through, work out a strategy. His mother had told him that the Greek merchant she was living with had the same goal. He was progressing carefully and prudently. He had his spies in the Roman court and he was awaiting this envoy. They wanted Tiberius alive. And it would happen. They only had to wait until the Romans’ water ran out, then they could pick them off and capture Tiberius.

Orneus was stretched out blissfully on his bed. Next to him Runa was sleeping quietly. His wife. The sun had risen just a while ago and he didn’t want to get up yet. Last night they had fallen asleep late. They had been talking about their lives for a very long time. He was glad he had found his soulmate and was enjoying the moments of unexpected happiness in these rough times. It wasn’t a crazy youth crush, but the gradual communion of souls that tied them together. This was a new experience for him and although it had been a month since the wedding, it was taking time to get used to that feeling.

He stroked her naked arm softly. She opened her eyes and smiled tenderly. Their hands joined together. She interlaced her fingers with his. “Honey, why do you wake me?” she spoke with a gentle voice. “You don’t let me sleep in the night and then we wake up early in the morning. Don’t forget, you aren’t a young man anymore.”

“Fine, fine. I will let you sleep longer tomorrow. Today we are opening another public house. Or, rather, you are opening it. Officially, you are its owner as we were discussing last night. If I own all the inns, it would look suspicious. And I don’t want to attract any attention.”

“All right. I realize how serious the situation is. But sometimes you are allowed to forget about work and duties.” She smiled seductively.

A quiet knock interrupted their flirtation. Orneus got up, walked to door and took the barrier down. A slave was standing there, his head bowed.

“What’s happening?”

“My Lord, some barbarian is here. He wants to speak with you.” He dropped his voice, “It’s a German.”

“Where is he?”

“I let him in from the back, through the stables. I still have to care about the reputation of this house.”

“Very wise,” he praised the slave, “bring this man to my office. Nobody must see him.” He signalled for him to leave.

Meanwhile, Runa got up and dressed. Then she joined him and together they entered the office.

There was a Germanic warrior waiting for them. Fresh scars and dust from the road magnified his wild appearance. When they walked in, he bowed respectfully.

“Greetings to you, Mother,” he paused and then added anyhow, “and to you, Greek.”

Orneus passed over the obvious deficit of respect in silence. Long since, he had noticed that Runa had a special position among Germans. They listened to her unconditionally. He was just a foreigner for them. It didn’t matter.

“Odora,” said Runa firmly, “this man is my husband and you will show him the respect he deserves. Despite he is not your real father.”

This is Odora, Runa’s last living son? ran through Orneus’s mind.

“What news do you bring?” she continued.

“According to your orders, we attacked and destroyed the Roman colony. Its leader is alive. We attacked them again further down the road when they were out of water. We keep him in a camp, just an hour far from here. Besides, we captured a treasury with plenty of Roman coins. And the most important thing I brought with me.”

From a leather pocket he pulled out a scroll, stained with blood. He gave it to Runa, who unfolded it eagerly. She was reading for a while then looked at her husband. “I am not very good at reading yet. Please, read it aloud.”

She handed the scroll to him. Orneus started to read.

To my loyal Publius Decimus Maximilianus Scipio,

Today, we stand together at the threshold of great events. The Germanic threat is becoming more and more visible and why I have been preparing a big offensive in the north of the Empire. For the good of great Rome, I intend to wipe Germanic resistance out in the bud and thus to ward off this threat once and for all. Until now, my attention was busy with war with Parthia in the east. It was completed successfully and brought great profits to imperial treasury. Now we are ready for war campaign in the north.

Orneus stopped reading. This was serious. The war was imminent. He used all his willpower to stay calm and read on.

There are ongoing recruitments into the legions across the Roman Empire. By the end of this march, they will embark on the march to the north. I chose you as my Supreme Commander. You have my complete trust. You have been sent into these parts in advance, to learn about the country and Germanic battle tactics thoroughly. Another man in your place would probably think that I neglect that territory of Empire. That’s why I have chosen you. You’re the man who will recognize strategic the importance of the place from the first moment. You are my right hand in this matter. I recently heard that you have increased the pay from your own funds to raise the morale of your soldiers, who have been actively fighting. I fully endorse this. I am also sending you a regular pay, increased by your contribution, which is exactly one fifth and all your expenses in this issue retroactively. I want you to know that the senate has assigned you lands in Italy. After this campaign, you will take a place in Rome and Roman history, which belongs to you by rights. Friendly greetings!

By his own hand Marcus Aurelius the Emperor.

Orneus put the letter down. Looking at Runa’s face, it revealed to him that she was as horrified as he. So, this happened at the last minute. If they hadn’t caught that envoy, everything would have been ruined. He would come anyway, but at least they could do something.

“What happened with the envoy?” Orneus asked the German. During the time he was living with Runa, his German language skills had improved.

“He’s wounded, but lives,” answered Odora.

“He must die,” said Orneus without pity, “now!”

Waving a hand, he signaled to his wife he wanted to be alone with her. They had things to discuss.

“Go, my son,” she said and stroked his face.

The man raised his hand in farewell and left quietly.

“This changes the situation. We must act. If this or a similar letter gets into the hands of Maximilianus, our plans would be over. He would never stand against Marcus Aurelius. That fool has longed for this a long time. The respect of Rome. And the Emperor offers it to him along with wealth and glory. I have to visit Maximilianus today. In a few days the legions will leave Rome. If we don’t stop them, they could wipe out the Germanic tribes and survivors will wind up in slavery. I can’t allow that. I promised.”

“You haven’t talked about it with me yet.”

“I am not sure if I can charge you with it because…”

“I am your wife. Your worries are my worries, too.”

“All right. I gave a promise to my friend that I will stay here, in this place and give them information then join with them to avert the Roman threat. I will keep my word, even if it costs my life. This all happened before I met you. You are the one I care most about. But it doesn’t change anything. Nothing in this world will make me break my word. Not even you.”

“I don’t even want to ask that of you. I owe duty to my people, too. Who is the man you gave a promise to?”

“His name’s Peter. He lives with people of the Kalkan tribe. They live in the territory around Wild River. It’s far from here, but Peter knows that if a Roman offensive starts it would be hard to stop.”

“I have heard about that tribe. And about its chief, the Teacher. They live quite secretly and don’t associate with other tribes. What do you want to do?” she asked, anxiety in her voice.

“What do I want to do? I must provoke the commander into a revolt against the Emperor. That is exactly what I have to do.”

Publius Decimus Maximilianus was sitting, glass of wine in hand, listening to the complaints of his officers. Their pay was delayed for the third week and the men were becoming quite nervous. There were proliferating skirmishes which, after the consultation with Orneus, he didn’t punish. Along with that, his bribed men had started to spread rumors that the Emperor didn’t care about them, he was just enjoying his time in Rome and did not care about what was happening. He listened to his men carefully and then dismissed them. He was awaiting his Greek friend and confidante, who would come in a while for their regular meeting on the latest events. The truth was that he also began to feel Rome’s disinterest in these areas.

The slave announced his guest’s arrival and left them alone. Orneus walked in, dressed elegantly as usual. During the time of planning a revolution they had become good friends. At least Maximilianus thought so.

“Welcome, my dear friend,” he saluted the visitor. “I am glad you came earlier today. We have a lot of issues to talk about.” He stood up to welcome the merchant. They hugged amicably.

“I am honored that you consider me your friend, Publius. I have some news, too.”

They sat down at the table. The commander poured wine. He did this himself as during their debates they didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone, or prying ears. They ate their fill, each engrossed in his own thoughts.

“Publius,” spoke the Greek first, “there is great dissatisfaction in the camp. The men are angry because of delayed pay. I managed to calm their feelings towards Rome and Marcus Aurelius, but there are also voices grumbling against you too.”

This surprised the commander. Against him? They had been loving him a few days ago!

“Against me? Is it my fault?”

“You are their commander. They look up to you first. In good times and in bad.”

“Gods! What are we supposed to do?” he asked gloomily.

“The best solution in this moment would be to pay the soldiers their salary.”

Maximilianus looked up. With the best will in the world he couldn’t get together enough funds in such a short time. It wasn’t possible.

“It isn’t possible. The camp treasury is empty. It barely covers the cost for the running of the camp. It will be out of normal operation by the end of this week. If money from Rome doesn’t arrive until then, we will be in trouble.”

They surely won’t come, thought Orneus.

“That’s true. This situation is bad. But perhaps it could be used. I think it’s time to initiate an uprising against that feckless Emperor.”

He paused, waiting for the reaction of the other man. He saw he was thinking about it. They had been waiting for this time. Now they had to act. Publius was still undecided.

“You think we should begin? My agents in Rome are selling my properties but I’m afraid I still don’t have enough money for a rebellion.”

“My friend. I have studied the numbers you provided to me very carefully. According to my calculations, we still need at least double that amount. I am willing to give you this money as an interest-free loan. We cannot hesitate, this is the right time. Men love you and hate the Emperor. We have to start now. If you make a campaign against Rome, you and your men will dominate it. You have a Roman legion of twenty thousand men. The Imperial army is still bound to the east and south of the Empire. And finally, I have heard that an unknown contagious disease is raging in the east and day by day it is reducing the lines of the Legion, more quickly than it can be replenished. The infection went to Rome as well. I think Marcus Aurelius is hated there, too.”

Maximilianus thought about it deeply. After a while he said, “You are right, Orneus. The gods are favoring me. We won’t hesitate. The loan you offered me I will repay twice when I become Emperor. I swear in my name, you won’t regret your friendship.”

Orneus stood up. He raised the goblet of wine seriously and said, “Long live Emperor Maximilianus the Great! Viva to Publius Decimus Maximilianus of Scipio!”

Eight

Czech Republic, 2002

The old homestead hadn’t changed from their last stay. A massive building with falling plaster and an old tiled roof that was sufficiently isolated from civilization. Beck, in fact, owned this house through one of his subsidiary companies in the Czech Republic. He bought it during his time in prison to be prepared in advance for his other activities, aimed at revealing the Time Gate. It wasn’t in his interest to attract too much attention, so they had repaired it minimally on the outside. Now, three years after completion of all work, there weren’t any visible signs of construction work.

The homestead was situated a few hours from the nearest town and only fifteen minutes drive from their last archeological camp. It was surrounded by a bohemian primeval forest, formed by hundred year old oak trees and firs. Here and there old fallen tree trunks pierced with many crevices were lying around. In their place grew young bushes. They were only growing where there was enough sunshine. The rest of forest was mired in shade.

Even the road led under tall trees. It was obvious nobody had walked this way for a long time. They had to stop several times. Men jumped out of the leading car to remove fallen branches from the road. On one section a swollen stream had torn down a piece of shoring along with the path, so they had to use pickaxes and shovels to dig a crossing through the creek. It wasn’t a problem for the large off-road Mercedes jeep.

Beck was thoughtfully looking out the window of the car in the middle of convoy. Franz, his driver, had been there before so knew the local terrain. He had also been there on the day of Beck’s arrest.

In his mind, Beck flew back to those events that had distracted him from fulfilling his mission and sent him behind bars for six years. They had been so close and failed. Just one step had been left.

He closed his eyes, thinking back to the Bohemian Forest in 1996.

Bernard Kraft, Beck’s adjutant for special business, was a tall slim man. His cold-blooded nature and perfect work ethic brought him recognition from the boss. He was his right hand. They had just prepared a trap for Peter Brezovsky – the only man who had gone through the Time Gate. He had to lead them to it. His wife Ema was chained up on the bed in the homestead. They sent him a message that if he didn’t come, she would die.

Bernard was standing next to the window in his office. He was looking at the place where Friedrich had been standing just five seconds ago. He was an inexperienced rookie. He saw him lighting a cigarette during the patrol. Such stupidity! In a few minutes, he disappeared. The only thing that remained was the indistinct red glow of his cigarette on the ground. Then it too extinguished. In a while, another guard disappeared.

There were no doubts. Brezovsky had come.

“Herr Beck, it has started!” Bernard announced to the older man.

He nodded slowly. He didn’t doubt that he would come. The very fact that Peter Brezovsky had returned from the past testified to his sentimentality. He would never leave his wife in Beck’s hands.

“He got two of our men. Son of a bitch!” Bernard exclaimed indignantly.

“They’re just pawns, Bernard. I counted on some losses. I could deploy twenty guys with the latest equipment, motion detectors and infrared cameras. They would pick him off like a clay pigeon at a shooting range. But it’s not my purpose. I want this man to get inside and catch him alive. He is carrying too much important information to die just like that.”

“Yes, Herr Beck.”

“Is everything ready according to my directions?”

“Yes, all men are in position,” said Bernard tensely.

Beck understood. For the first time in his life, he had discovered someone who was an adequate adversary. But now wasn’t the time for proving his strength. The trap was set.

The front door opened silently and the expected man walked in. Peter Brezovsky.

Beck supposed that none of the guards outside were still alive. He was looking with interest at one of monitors transmitting images from cameras for night shooting, spaced throughout the house. The man stood for a while, adapting his eyes to the darkness. He was dressed like a total savage. He was crouched and moving slowly, and Beck could have sworn he was sniffing like a predator. He smiled.

The man started to walk up one of the two staircases leading to the first floor. When he was one third of the way up, he suddenly faltered. For a while it seemed that he would turn back and escape. Did he smell a trap? No, he was moving forward again.

Just a second.

NOW!

Beck flicked the switch and light flooded the stairway. For half a second, the man was blinded by the sudden brightness, but the next moment he snatched a small hatchet from behind his back. It was the same one they had found during the excavations. Suddenly, commandos in black uniforms rushed out, aiming at him with automatic guns. Now Beck admitted that it was the right time to enter the scene.

He stepped out of the shadows and with a raw mix of Czech and Polish, which he had used for the last time during the Second World War, he yelled, “Well, well, Mr. Brezovsky. Don’t you think you’ve killed enough people?” Then he commanded, “Put the weapon down!”

The man put down his weapon resignedly and raised his hands above his head. Two uniformed guards grabbed him and tied his hands behind his back. Then took him to the interrogation room which had been created for just this purpose. Brezovsky was tied to a chair with leather straps. Then the interrogation began.

Half an hour later, Bernard walked out of the room and into Beck’s office. Beck was sitting in a chair, drinking coffee and looking at the monitor with the image from the interrogation room.

“He fainted, Herr Beck,” he said as he walked in.

“So we haven’t found anything yet,” concluded his boss.

“He’s an exceedingly tough guy. We possibly could go to the third stage,” he suggested.

“No,” rejected Beck with a movement of his hand. “It could kill him. Besides, we don’t want to make a cripple out of him. He’s so far the only one who can travel through time. I would rather he joined us.”

Beck was jolted back to the present when the car bumped suddenly on potholes in the road.

Shit, I’ll get this road repaired tomorrow, he thought annoyingly.

They were quite close to homestead. The bleak old house was waiting for new residents. The grounds had been recently mowed. His eyes stopped at the shutter on the first floor. Old shabby shutters had been replaced with new ones and painted brown. There were still bullet holes visible around the windows. On that day, years ago…

Bohemian Forest, 1996

The bucket of cold water woke Brezovsky. He barely lifted his head. At first sight it was obvious he was exhausted from the interrogation. So far he had been resisting. But for how long? For Beck, time wasn’t important. He knew that he’d succumb, sooner or later. And then he would achieve his goal. After all, he had been chosen by fate.

“Hello, Mr. Brezovsky,” Beck said in a friendly voice, “please excuse our behavior. We could treat you like a guest, but it depends on you.”

“What do you want?” asked the chained man.

“What do I want?” he repeated his question with pleasure. “You managed to travel through time. Twice, according to our information. All I want from you is to show me how.”

“Why should I do that? If I show you, you’ll kill me.”

“Yes, it was my original intention. But your attitude has convinced me otherwise. I am offering you something else.” He paused meaningfully. “You are a quarter Aryan. Join us. Join our side. I am offering you an opportunity to be a witness to something great. I mean nothing less than world domination.”

He started to talk about his future visions, but also about his memories. He revealed his heart. He introduced Brezovsky into his world, although he knew it wouldn’t be that easy to convince him. He didn’t expect to either. If he changed his mind easily, he would not be able to believe him. Big decisions were born from blood and pain.

“You are a lunatic,” Brezovsky said sincerely. “You want to kill so many people. Your body is a fraud, too. According to what you were talking about, you must be an old man.”

“My friend,” Beck said with a smile, “don’t judge a book by its cover. What you see is a beautiful combination of money and the latest genetic research. Isn’t it wonderful? But something’s missing. Power. Absolute power over millions of people. Yes, that is what I want. You say I’m a lunatic…” He let these words hang in the air. “And what happened to you? You were a businessman with a successfully developing firm, a pretty young wife. And now? Now you are a savage, a multiple murderer. What’s the difference between killing one man, five people or millions? We are the same. Come on, join me, you won’t regret it.”

The chained man looked at him with his astonished eyes. Then he spat disgustedly. Beck looked in his face carefully. He even smiled lightly. “Mr. Brezovsky, don’t act rashly in your decision. Realize, please, that great decisions need some time.”

“Go to hell!” barked Brezovsky.

“I’ll give you time to consider it. My friend will sweeten your time of deciding. I believe you will commit to him.”

The door opened and Bernard walked in. He put his hat away and lit a cigarette. He fixed his cold blue eyes on Peter, showing no emotion.

“Bernard, we will continue. Torture apparently doesn’t lead anywhere. We’ll change to serum.”

“Yes, Herr Beck. I’ll try fifteen milliliters.”

“Start with ten. He is too valuable to us. I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

It seemed that Brezovsky understood German a little. When he saw the syringe, he understood absolutely.

Beck left the room. His presence wasn’t needed there. He entered the office, sat down, poured a glass of water and watched on the monitor. Any conversation was recorded on tape. Influenced by drugs, Brezovsky began to talk at length. At first, it was just some experiences from the past, but also about time travel. He was fighting to hold back from revealing the main facts. Beck had a suspicion the drug had stopped working.

“He needs another dose,” said Bernard.

“I agree.”

Suddenly, a bright light illuminated the outside and the sound of the whoop whoop of a helicopter could be heard.

A moment later, a thundering voice came through a loudspeaker.

“This is the police. Surrender! The whole area is surrounded, you have no chance.”

The call was repeated alternatively in Czech and German. Beck didn’t hesitate. He immediately threw all his documents into the large fireplace. He then poured alcohol on everything and lit it. Then he pulled out tapes from a recording machine and threw them on as well. He didn’t need them, everything important was in his head.

“What are we going to do, Herr Beck?” asked Bernard through the system.

“Don’t offer resistance, everything will be resolved,” he commanded.

They had no notable evidence against him. In the most extreme case, he would sacrifice Bernard. This surely wouldn’t bring him to his knees. He would escape unscathed. He just needed to hold his nerve.

At that moment, shooting erupted from within the house. The police returned fire immediately.

“Damn!” shouted Beck. “Idiots, what are they doing?”

This is not good, he thought. Now it won’t be so easy.

In the next room a machine gun clattered.

A powerful explosion split the air. A police car exploded in a massive fireball. Bullets whistled through the air every which way.

Window panes in Beck’s office exploded and the ceiling was peppered by dozens of bullets. He heard the police breaking into the house. It wouldn’t take long until they found him. He sat behind the desk, opened a bottle and filled a large glass.

The shooting stopped. He heard heavy footsteps running up the stairs.

Suddenly, the door slammed open and a plainclothes policeman with gun in hand rushed in. It was the man who was investigating Kurt’s death.

Beck raised his glass casually in greeting. “Hello, Detective Rosenbach, what are you bringing me?”

“Interesting news, Beck. The game is over. You are done. You’ll spend the rest of your life behind bars. Such a shame the death penalty has been withdrawn in Germany.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Detective. I’ll get out of this. The name Beck still has power.” You lousy tyke, he almost added, but bit his tongue. No sense in provoking the man, he thought.

“The game’s over! Realize that, you pig. Or shall I call you Herr Sturmbannführer Rudolf Schmidt?” he yelled.

With that, Beck’s world collapsed. There would be no Third Reich, no power, no Führer, either. Everything was gone. He was done. This was the end.

Suddenly, he remembered the gun in his drawer. He reached for it.

The detective was expecting something. He fired twice.

Beck felt bullets hit his arm, then the fire of pain engulfed him. With his left hand he pressed the wounded limb to his body. He heard the creaking of smashed bones.

“You fucking Nazi bastard!” yelled Rosenbach. “All I want to do is shoot you right now, so don’t make it easier for me. Just one move and I’ll kill you!”

Beck believed him. He knew he would shoot him given the opportunity. For the first time in a long time, he felt the fear of death. He started to sweat heavily.

Coming back to the present, Beck wiped his sweaty forehead. These memories always affected him and his stomach clenched again, as it always did when he remembered. The arm still hurt occasionally, especially when the weather changed. Skillful German doctors had implanted a shoulder joint prosthesis. It had taken several months of intensive rehabilitation until the original mobility had returned.

Now, years later, only an ugly scar and sporadic aches remained. And the rest of them? Brezovsky and Kraft had vanished God knows where. For all these years he hadn’t managed to find either of them. Traitors, like Kühner, had paid with their lives. As had the damned Rosenbach and the odious prosecutor Siebert. However, he remained and he was back on the scene. And he would win. As always. He was chosen by destiny! Germany needed him, the world needed him. Or so he thought.

They reached the homestead and the car finally stopped. Beck got out briskly and stretched his muscles after the long journey. He had spent almost ten hours in the car; except for a few stops along the way, the journey was continuous. He reached back in and picked up his briefcase.

He looked around and then started giving orders.

The upper floor he reserved for himself once again; the rest of the men were housed on the ground floor. For now he had twelve people, who had come in four jeeps. Tonight, Werner Dietrich and the archeology professor would join him. After discussion with them, he would specify another strategy.

He again remembered his former adjutant Bernard Kraft. Where had he disappeared to? He was wanted internationally for several crimes. After the arrest, Interpol had mentioned multiple murders, extortion, spreading of fascism, kidnapping. Enough to live the rest of his life in jail. And despite that, he had fallen off the face of the Earth.

For now, to try and find the Time Gate he had only basic equipment. Several of the latest metal detectors, spectrograms and so on. It was much better with laboratory equipment. Everything was moved to the former farm building, standing on the left from the main house. This had been reconstructed, too, but to a larger extent than the homestead. It had been adapted for more important purposes.

At first sight, it looked like an old spacious house, built from solid logs. The only thing that gave an impression of novelty was the door. The massive oak door with metal fittings were, along with iron bars on the windows, great deterrents for uninvited guests. There were a large number of devices being used for genetic research by Dr. Diebner’s team. He would take him into the past, too. He would need him.

The look of an unused area was exactly what they wanted to achieve. The building didn’t arouse too much attention and nobody would think there were other rooms underground. These were perfectly secured. They continued experimenting with highly effective lethal viruses here. Although the building looked derelict from the outside, inside it was completely renovated. New distribution utilities, new flooring, paneled walls and thoroughly insulated against the leakage of biological material and gases. The ceiling was covered with three rows of fluorescent lights. It was equipped with its own propane butane distribution. Two huge gas bottles, with a volume of sixty cubic meters, stood behind the barn. In addition, there was an emergency diesel generator, which started to work automatically after a power blackout. Simply put, the building was supposed to serve as a complete multipurpose laboratory, equipped with advanced equipment and powerful computers with the latest scientific software and hardware. Beck spared no money in his quest.

He looked around with satisfaction. At first sight, it hadn’t changed much from his last visit. He walked past Franz, who had opened the front door for him, and he slowly walked upstairs.

Suddenly, a strange feeling swept over him. It felt like somebody was staring at him, watching him. He winced sharply. Scanning the area, he saw nothing. None of his men were close or looking at him. Nevertheless…

“Search the house! Now!” he ordered.

Men immediately split up and searched all the rooms. Nothing suspicious was found. Throughout the house the sound of heavy boots, doors and drawers being opened, echoed. After fifteen minutes they reported that everything was in order.

“In order? Nothing is in order,” he mumbled and went upstairs.

When he reached the first floor, he headed to the room used as his office. The door opened with a slight screeching of hinges, and he walked in. Nothing had changed. Perhaps except new windows, and the large lamp that had been replaced by a low table with a vase and artificial flowers. He walked over to the window, parted the curtains and looked out. His men were unloading the last of the toolboxes. The day was slowly coming to an end, with the sun setting behind the trees and a light breeze blowing.

Beck put down his briefcase, dipped into it, pulled out a sheaf of papers, and began studying them. He was checking his financial situation, the cost for purchasing equipment, buying the properties and payment for his men. According to preliminary results, with average inflation, he could finance this project for about seven years. Fine, he didn’t expect it would take that long, but it was better to be prepared.

Franz knocked, then walked in with dinner on a platter. While Beck was eating, Franz unpacked several boxes. They were basically delicate objects, used as evidence in Beck’s trial. Most of them they had to get back from the police using bribes. They included a painting Face of a Dying Jew, which had used to hang in Beck’s office. Franz hung the painting to the left of the desk. It was a clear cry of misery. In the foreground was the face of a Jew, full of pain and suffering. An SS man was standing over him with a smoking gun. The smoking chimneys of the crematoria ovens in a concentration camp were in the background.

Next was a book, one of the first editions of Hitler’s Mein Kampf with the dedication from Himmler, the Reischführer.

Finally, he pulled out a toothy, grinning skull. Everything had begun with this. At first sight, it looked quite ordinary, but in fact it was extraordinary – mainly because of the hole the size of small coin in its forehead and bigger jagged hole at the back. The hole in the head of some wretch. Except for the fact that the hole was a clean perforated wound in the head of a man who was walking on the earth nearly two thousand years ago! The skull had been carbon dated to this time. An obvious proof of time travel. After a short interrogation of the reseller who offered it to him, they had found the place where it had been discovered – Bohemian Forest, Sharky, Czech Republic.

The skull, and the location, had inspired him to great ideas. To find and use the Time Gate. To resurrect the Third Reich and make Germans and Germany dominate the world. This situation didn’t surprise him at all. For a long time he had a feeling he had been chosen to achieve great things. That destiny had chosen him, Rudolf Schmidt-Eduard Beck, the former Kommandant of the concentration camp of Auschwitz, to fulfill. And he wouldn’t fail. He was sure about it.

“Thank you, Franz,” he pushed the plate with leftovers aside and wiped his mouth with a napkin, “you can take it away.”

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