Service guys. That maybe there was something special or secret about you two. Now-’ he shook his head — ‘now… I’m sorry, I’m justthinking you’re some crazy kid with a little too much imagination.’
‘I’m telling you, time travel
‘Then, you know what? Why don’t you go make a time machine and kill Kramer all byyourself?’ Wallace scoffed. He looked like he’d finally had enough of Liam’scrazy story.
Liam sighed. ‘I’m just a dumb ship’s steward. Or at least I was. Anyway,even if I had the brains to actually make a time machine, I’d need to know where andwhen to go… to the very first moment Kramer entered your history.’
Wallace shook his head. ‘Well, everyone knows that — except you, Isuppose.’
‘Uh? What do you mean?’
‘There’s an account of Hitler’s very first encounter with him. It’sin Hitler’s second autobiography,
‘Go on.’
‘It was April 1941. It’s a well-known encounter. He describes Kramer as amessenger from God, an angel. Divine intervention, he called it. In his book he tells howKramer arrived in the dark of a wintry night at the notorious Eagle’s Nest. The night ofthe fifteenth of April, if my memory serves me well.’
Liam felt his heart pounding.
Wallace turned to go, then stopped. His gaunt face smiled, teeth showing through his darkbeard. ‘I guess I’d like to believe in your story, kid, that there’s abetter history out there somewhere.’
‘There is!’
He laughed, puffing a cloud of breath before him. ‘Well, let me know when you find it,eh?’
Liam watched the man turn and go, feet crunching across the snow, huddled in his own greyblanket. A bleak figure. As Wallace merged with the other prisoners, huddling for warmth,Liam’s mind turned to a possibility, a ray of hope. If he could only get thatinformation to Foster and Maddy… that particular place and date.
Perhaps they’d also stumbled across this information somehow — this supposedinspirational meeting of Kramer and Hitler. Perhaps Bob had made it back through the scheduledportal and right now he and Foster were on their way back to put things right. Back to 1941 tofind this Kramer.
And to kill him.
It was a hope, wasn’t it? Something for him to hang on to.
CHAPTER 55
1956, command ship above Washington DC
Karl Haas smartly saluted the two SS Leibstandarte standing guard either side ofthe doors to the Fuhrer’s observation deck. They snapped crisply to attention, andthen swung open the double doors for him.
He proceeded down the oak-panelled passageway towards the second, inner, doors leading on toKramer’s extravagantly decorated quarters, the heels of his black leather jackboots nolonger clacking noisily on metal plating, but softly thudding against the luxuriously thickcarpet.
Karl was becoming concerned with his leader. In the last couple of months, since their finalassault on Washington and the taking of the White House, Kramer had become very distracted. Itwas becoming increasingly difficult to convince him to attend the weekly situation briefingswith the regional Gauleiters and invasion fleet’s senior commanders. And when he didturn up he appeared not to be listening.
It was even getting harder for Karl to see his old friend alone. With increasing regularityit seemed, Kramer insisted he was far too busy to see anyone.
The worst it could possibly mean is that some future agent had tried andfailed to get to Kramer. A failed assassination attempt, nothing more.
And the rest of the news was all good. Back home in Europe the people of Greater Germany wereecstatic with the newsreels they were watching in their cinemas. Footage of their invasionforces marching proudly through the streets of New York, Washington, Boston. Some of that goodcheer was evident even among the provinces of Britain and France… who, despite beingconquered over a decade ago, had come to realize the Fuhrer was a good man, intent onuniting all people, not enslaving them.
The announcement of Unity Day, a day to celebrate the end of war and a uniting of the westernnations, had been met with rapturous approval by the citizens of the Greater Reich. Karl wascertain future Unity Days would be celebrated with street parties everywhere, people in everycity in every country of Kramer’s empire happy to draw a line under two thousand yearsof bloody history. Wars, crusades, religious intolerance, inquisitions, torture, ethniccleansing, holocausts — all of those dark things in the past now.
He rapped his knuckles against the thick wooden doors, waiting until he heard Kramer beckonhim in. He pushed them open, stepped inside and saluted his leader.
Kramer was sitting in the window alcove, looking down at a misty morning. He could just makeout the dome at the top of the White House poking through the pale blanket coveringWashington, the orange glow of street lamps along Pennsylvania Avenue and the pinprickheadlights of slow-moving cars making their way sluggishly to work.
Presently, he turned to look at Karl and offered him a warm smile. ‘Good morning, Karl.How are you?’
Karl relaxed his posture, dropping his stiff salute and stepping towards his leader, hisfriend. ‘I’m well.’
Kramer shook his head. ‘It’s amazing how quickly normalityreturns, isn’t it? Out there… people go to work, go to school, visit theirfriends, their loved ones, just as they always have. They have a new leader, a new flag…but life simply goes on for them.’
‘Yes… Paul.’
‘The American people, it seems,’ continued Kramer, ‘have already acceptedthe way of things.’
Karl stirred uncomfortably.
‘So,’ said Kramer, ‘shall we get on with this morning’s briefing? Ihave other matters to attend to.’
‘Of course. I have the usual stack of papers for you to sign; most of them areapprovals for regional state governors — sympathetic politicians mostly.’ Karlleaned over and placed the papers on the desk. Kramer got up from the window seat and sat downat the desk, flicking wearily through the forms and signing them absent- mindedly.
‘So much paperwork these days,’ he sighed.
‘The remaining US military forces regrouped in Texas have agreed informal terms forsurrender. I believe it’s General MacArthur who’s in charge there.’
‘Good… good. Silly their fighting on needlessly.’
‘He’s hoping that we’ll grant clemency for the senior officers, allow themto return to their families.’
Kramer continued scribbling his name as he talked. ‘To be honest, it’s the seniorofficers I don’t trust. Tell MacArthur his troops will be disarmed and allowed todisband, to go home. But I’m afraid he and his high command will be interned along withall our other political prisoners,’ uttered Kramer, leafing impatiently through thepapers. ‘Until, that is, I’m satisfied they won’t be tempted to lead anytroublesome uprisings.’
Karl shuffled uncomfortably. ‘On that subject… we are having afew problems in the Washington area.’
‘Hmm?’
‘Raids. Some insurgents attacking our prison camps.’
Kramer looked up at him, his pen poised.
‘Five camps have been raided so far,’ Karl continued. ‘The garrisons wereover-powered and quite a few detainees managed to escape on each occasion.’
‘I presume these insurgents are some rogue US army unit? How many of them are wetalking about?’
‘Well, there’s some confusion there, sir,’ said Karl awkwardly.‘Eyewitness reports on the earlier raids
