"Hey!" Benjamin shouted, his hand snapping to his belt as the door he had guarded for years was suddenly kicked open with a force that felt like the start of an enemy assault.
Five people entered without hesitation, ignoring the guards' shouts as they walked straight past them. One man, his hat pulled low, cast Benjamin a cold, cutting glance.
At the front, a woman limped forward and stopped at the reception.
"Who are you? What do you want from the American embassy?" the receptionist asked, her voice calm but strained.
"Grade 1 intelligence officer Virginia Hall. I have vital information and individuals that must be secured."
The woman's eyes widened as she looked at the document Virginia held up in front of her.
Moments later, a sharp looking middle aged man in a suit came down the stairs.
Hall immediately straightened and saluted.
"Sir!"
The man gave a brief nod, his gaze shifting to the people behind her. Then his expression changed, shock flashing across his face.
"Guards, seize that man!" he shouted, pointing at Werner.
Werner only smiled and stepped forward, even as guards rushed toward him from all directions.
"William Carry," he said calmly, tilting his head.
The man in the suit froze. His hand lifted slightly, stopping the guards without a word. Shock had taken hold of him completely. In all his years of service, never had he experienced anything like this.
"How do you know that name?" he whispered. "Tell me… how do you know that name, Friedrich Lehmann?"
Werner's smile deepened.
"When my foot touches American soil, I will tell the CIA far more than just the name of its founder. Your mind cannot even begin to grasp the importance of this moment."
He stepped closer and casually patted the man on the shoulder.
"Get us a plane. Now… Donovan."
A private airstrip somewhere in Switzerland.
Three men, all clad in dark suits with their hats lowered, strode toward the private transport plane. The engine was already running when a far louder sound tore through the air.
Gunshots.
"It seems they managed to catch up," Werner murmured, pausing on the stairs as he looked into the distance.
A convoy of German transport trucks had somehow bypassed Swiss control and tracked them all the way here.
"Heydrich… you truly are dangerous," Werner said quietly, before his silhouette disappeared into the shadows of the plane.
"Hold them off!" Hall shouted, drawing her pistol and firing toward the incoming trucks.
American soldiers and officers joined in, gunfire erupting across the airstrip. In the chaos, it was Francis who landed a decisive shot, hitting the front tire of the leading truck. It spun violently, overturned, and skidded across the concrete before bursting into flames.
Shouts rose from the Germans as they poured out of the remaining vehicles, men in long leather coats returning fire as they pushed toward the burning wreck.
Hall clenched her jaw as the pilot signaled urgently.
"Board the plane! Now!" she shouted.
But for Karl, it was too late. He was last, dropping his coffer as he clutched his chest. A dark bloom of blood spread across his shirt, growing with every second.
He gritted his teeth and looked up.
Chaos.
Gunfire intensified. One guard after another was cut down, bodies hitting the ground in rapid succession.
Karl managed to find Werner's gaze through the window of the plane , he gave him a parting look. This was reality. For the sake of the greater good, sacrifices were necessary.
Another bullet struck the crawling Karl in the back, killing him on the spot.
Francis staggered, clutching his bleeding shoulder as he retreated toward the plane. Hall reached the stairs just ahead of him and turned, extending her hand.
In that moment, something in the corner of her eye made her freeze.
From the burning wreck emerged a silhouette.
A man, his face blackened with ash, shoved aside those trying to help him. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his pistol.
Even from this distance, she could see the cold certainty in his expression.
Francis looked at her one last time.
Then the shot rang out.
His body collapsed onto the steps, blood spilling across the metal, running down toward her feet.
"No!" Hall screamed, raising her pistol.
But someone grabbed her from behind, pulling her into the plane.
A bullet struck exactly where she had stood a heartbeat before.
The door wasn't even fully closed when the pilot slammed the throttle forward, the aircraft lurching down the runway.
Hall watched desperately as the remaining guards were cut down one by one while the plane accelerated. And in that final moment, just before distance was far enough, she met his eyes.
Heydrich roared in fury, firing wildly at the departing aircraft, though even he knew it was pointless.
"LEHMANN!" he shouted, turning sharply.
"The Luftwaffe is to shoot them down immediately. If necessary, contact the Italians as well!"
He shook his head, breathing heavily. He knew what he was, a hunting dog. And he took pride in it, because he was the best. He had hunted and killed countless enemies of the state, always methodical, always precise. He tracked, followed, and struck.
But this time, the prey had slipped from his jaws.
Heydrich stood there, chest rising and falling, as minutes passed.
Then engines roared across distant airfields.
Three groups of planes took to the sky.
As the American transport aircraft crossed over southern France, fighters were already racing to intercept it. One squadron rose from Malta, British planes. Another from Marseille, German fighters. And the last from Milan, the Italians.
"In the end, Friedrich Lehmann survived. He managed to escape across the Atlantic, protected by the desperate efforts of the Royal Air Force," Paul said quietly, looking at the person before him.
It was Marcus.
His son.
The child was asleep, while Paul sat beside him, a fully grown man holding a small children's book filled with simple stories. The one he had told tonight was not one of them.
It was not a story meant for children. Not because it lacked humor or happiness, but because of its weight, and its length. The book only held short tales.
The one Paul had told had only just begun.
"How will our protagonist act next time, Marcus?" he murmured softly.
"I'll tell you another evening."
New York, LaGuardia Airport, two days later
Step. Step. Step.
Werner raised his head, the sun falling across his face. Before him stood dozens of soldiers and what appeared to be CIA agents. Every one of them watched him with the same expression.
Expectation and skepticism.
What could this German traitor possibly offer them, and would he even give it?
"I wonder…" Werner began, his sudden voice startling the men around him.
"Is that you, James?" he asked, a faint, melancholic smile forming as his gaze slipped past the crowd, settling on a man seated in a wheelchair.
The man lifted his head in absolute shock, meeting Werner's eyes.
A murmur spread through the crowd as two soldiers stepped forward, grabbing Werner by the arms. Still, as the line parted, Werner tilted his head slightly, being escorted past James.
Two acquaintances from two timelines met face to face for the first time, without their mutual friend standing in between them.
"Just who are you?" James asked, his voice crackling, while watching as Werner and his fellow officers were escorted away.
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Sorry for the lack of chapters. I'll be on vacation, but once I'm back, I'll try to update more regularly.
Thank you all for the support! I appreciate every Power Stone, comment, and review.