My First Novel: Chapter Five

Okay. We’ve reached 90 likes. So, here’s Chapter Five! Thanks for reading, folks. Keep those comments coming. Our boy Mike is getting deeper into the unknown. Of course, you can read the whole novel in sequence at right in “Landmarks” by clicking on “My Novel”. 100 “likes” and I’ll drop Chapter Six.

Chapter Five

The sun was setting as Mike drove slowly up Sullivan Ridge Road above Rustic Canyon. After a while, the road wasn’t paved. A half-mile in, it got bumpy, and he knew he was close to Murphy’s Ranch. The road wasn’t well travelled, but it wasn’t forgotten. For decades, Hollywood big shots had made their homes in the hills high above the hidden Nazi compound. It was dark when Mike parked his car, tucking it out of sight behind the roadside chaparral.

Mike had no reason to think anybody was following him, but he moved like he was being tracked. As on any dangerous case, he had his old Marine combat knife strapped to his right shin. He was also packing the 45-caliber automatic pistol he’d found on a shell-torn Pacific battlefield and smuggled stateside as a souvenir. Both had saved his life more than once. If things got as crazy as he imagined they might, he could need them tonight.

Mike had only walked about a few dozen yards when he managed to find the overgrown gate to Murphy’s Ranch. He climbed over the chained and locked gate and made his way down the five hundred vertigo-inducing concrete steps into what remained of the secret fascist enclave. He couldn’t see much in what little moonlight there was, but he didn’t dare use his flashlight. He advanced as if he was walking point on a night patrol. He had to find the meeting place, wherever it was, by 8:00. And he only had twenty minutes to get there.

Mike followed the shallow creek at the bottom of the canyon and with ten minutes to spare, he came upon a cinder block pillbox with lights ablaze in the one small window he could see. Voices could be heard inside.

The meeting was already underway.

Mike looked at his watch. 7:56. “Holy crap,” he whispered, it was really happening. He felt for the .45 under his jacket and crept up beside the window, careful to stay out of sight.

Keeping in the shadows, Mike peered through the window. It was a twenty-five-foot square chamber. Sophisticated machinery was in evidence everywhere: lots of wires and pipes and dials and buttons, but nothing Mike recognized. Two men were speaking what sounded like a mix of English and German. The young man didn’t seem to be as fluent in German as the older man, whose vocabulary and accent were superb. Mike listened for a moment. The younger man, who appeared to be in his early twenties, addressed the older man as “Doctor Huber.”

Mike understood the dynamics of rank and could tell that the younger guy was clearly subordinate to Huber, who looked more than thirty years older than his obvious assistant. Extremely agitated, Huber told the young man, whom he called “Horst,” that he was angry with himself for losing something. Some wondrous piece of advanced technology. At that moment, Mike wished his mom had spoken a lot more German around the house, and that he’d been more attentive in class at UCLA. But since Horst spoke less German than Huber, it wasn’t hard for Mike to get the gist of what they were saying. He was pleased with how well he was keeping up with their conversation — though what Dr. Huber said next made Mike wonder if he truly understood what they were saying at all.

If Mike heard him right, Dr. Huber was complaining to Horst that he’d intended to bring this incredible object “Zurück aus der Zukunft.” Mike took out his pocket notebook and wrote it down. “Zurück aus der Zukunft.” He had to make sure he remembered the words right – because they meant “back from the future.”

Did Huber really say, “back from the future”? What could that mean? Horst mentioned the word “future” several times. But Mike still couldn’t make out what exactly Dr. Huber had lost.

Huber told Horst that the device he’d just lost had far more computing power than anything current science had produced. Huber was adamant that he had to go back through the “Zeitportal” to find another such device. Mike jotted “Zeitportal” in his notebook. It wasn’t a difficult word to understand. “Ziet” meant “time”. And “portal” was the same word in English. Were these guys talking about a time portal?

Mike was listening very closely now, keen to understand every word of this crazy conversation. He took notes as the two scientists discussed how Huber’s lost piece of technology could advance their master plan. “Time portal?” “Master plan?” Mike didn’t like the sound of Germans talking about a master plan.

Mike couldn’t believe what he was hearing and seeing. This might turn out to be the wildest case he’d ever stumbled into.

And he was stone cold sober.

As Mike eavesdropped, he gathered that Horst was living in the hidden, forgotten compound, guarding the time portal that he and Dr. Huber had built. The portal was comprised of a large ring of wires and steel about thirty feet in circumference, with electronics and lights that meant nothing at all to Mike. Dr. Huber stepped toward that otherworldly contraption and declared he’d be back within the hour with another device like the one he lost. Mike watched in amazement as Horst fiddled with various controls and fired up the time portal, which hummed to life. Then, Dr. Huber entered the time portal and disappeared.

Mike was slack-jawed at what he was witnessing, but he steeled himself to calm down and focus. Did Huber really just disappear? This was when Mike was always at his best. When the crap was about to hit the fan, whether on Tarawa or in a dark alley in Long Beach, he knew how to shift into low gear and keep his mind on the mission.

With Huber gone, Mike turned his attention to Huber’s protégé, who was furiously writing up his notes. He couldn’t quite make out the situation between the two men. Dr. Huber was clearly in charge, but what organization were they working for? Was this a continuation of the Nazi fantasy embraced by Herr Schmidt and the founders of Murphy’s Ranch? Or was this something else?

Mike knew he had to stay put until Dr. Huber got back. That is if he got back.From the future?

It was all totally nuts.

The night was getting colder, and Mike regretted not wearing an overcoat. Of course, only in Los Angeles would forty degrees on a December night be considered cold. He’d been shivering in the dark for nearly an hour when Dr. Huber reappeared.

Mike watched as Huber emerged from the Zeitportal, triumphantly holding a small rectangular thing in his hand. Mike rubbed his eyes and stared at the object that Huber proudly showed to his protégé. It looked just like the same strange black device Mike had in his pants pocket!

Huber told Horst that the people of the future call it a “smart phone” or an “eye phone.” There was no mistaking those two names as Huber apparently didn’t know a German language equivalent. Mike took the device out of his pocket and looked at the writing on the back. “iPhone 3G.”

Mike realized his “iPhone” must be the very same “eye-phone” that Huber had lost, since the message on its screen led Mike directly to this meeting. He knew he had to hold on tightly to his mystery gizmo. There was no telling how it might help him as he tried to figure out just what the hell was going on.

In a commanding tone, Dr. Huber ordered Horst to make sure the portal’s systems were fully recharged by 7:00 pm tomorrow night. That’s when he’d go back to the future and start to put their plan into action. The two men ended their meeting with a crisp Nazi salute and a hearty “Heil Hitler!”

Mike could see that, just like those fanatic Japanese soldiers still hiding in caves, unwilling to surrender six years after the war, Horst and Huber were devoted dead-enders. Only they weren’t at a dead end. They’d apparently cooked up some wild, nefarious time-traveling plan. And that made them more dangerous than those Jap holdouts, hiding from their victorious enemies.

Then again, their whole time-traveling master plan might turn out to be a lot of kooky sci-fi bullshit, like that crazy flying-saucer flick he’d seen last month, The Day the Earth Stood Still. 

Mike followed Dr. Huber as the older man left his cinder block laboratory and labored up the long flight of concrete steps out of the canyon.

Huber was nimble for man his age. Mike drew on his stalking talents, which he credited to his time as a Boy Scout and improved upon as a Marine. He kept up with Huber undetected, tracking the old scientist until he got into his car and drove off. To where, Mike wondered? He didn’t try to follow. By the time he’d get to where his own car was parked, Huber would be long gone.

Besides, Mike knew exactly where Dr. Huber would be tomorrow – and when. He thought of going back down all those crazy stairs to see what young Horst was going to do next, but he was exhausted. He’d pulled off his surveillance mission so far and there was no good reason to take chances with a return visit to Murphy’s Ranch. He’s already gotten more information than he knew what to do with.

More than he could fathom.

It had been an incredible day. Did he really propose to Gloria and then watch a guy go back and forth through a time portal in the same evening? Mike had seen a lot in this world — an awful lot. But these last twenty-four hours had been like no other. He went back to his car, his thoughts swirling.

Did Dr. Huber really make a round trip to the future and back? Who was this Horst guy? What kind of plot were they cooking up? Should he alert any of his pals from the police force? And what the hell does an “iPhone” do?

At least he now had a couple of names to work with: Dr. Huber and Horst. Was Horst the guy’s first name or last?

Sleep didn’t come easy that night.

Early the next morning, as he often did, Mike went surfing at Paradise Cove before it got too crowded. As he paddled out, large swells were still being pushed onshore by yesterday’s storm. It wouldn’t be hard to catch a big wave in these conditions. Riding that wave would be the challenge.

From the time Mike was a teenager, surfing was a way to keep his body toned and his mind sharp. He surfed through high school, college, and right up to the war. Not long after his war wounds were healed, he got back on top of the waves. It was therapy. It was his religion. It was the closest thing to great sex. Conjuring the ecstasy of making love to Gloria, Mike missed his first big wave.

Despite the crazy scene Mike had witnessed at Murphy’s Ranch the night before, his proposal to Gloria was top of mind. Did he really just pop the question? Of course, he did. He was crazy about that girl. If she honored him with a “yes” he’d be the happiest jerk in the world. Lost in that thought, he missed another big wave. He wasn’t paying attention. It was Gloria. And the weird time travel thing. But it was mostly Gloria. Get your head in the game, he told himself.

These waves were too big to trifle with.

Before long Mike saw his buddy paddling out to meet him. Sergeant Andy Pafko was two years older than Mike, with over a decade of service in the LAPD. Andy tried to enlist in the Army right after the attack on Pearl, but since he was already a police officer, he was turned down by the draft board, which gave him a Class II-A deferment as he was deemed “essential.” Andy could never let that go. He wanted to be part of the big fight overseas. He hated spending his war years stateside, patrolling the seedy streets of L.A. So, of course, he drank a lot. The war took a toll even on the guys who couldn’t go.  

Andy and Mike were detectives and partners a few years ago, until they both got demoted for leaning on some crooks with connections in City Hall. Mike lost his detective rank and was busted back to walk a beat. Andy got reassigned to a shitty desk job. The police chief at the time, Clemence Brooks Horrall, wound up resigning from the department a year later in ’49, when a grand jury started investigating police corruption. But Mike had quit the force before that shit went down. Meanwhile, Andy stayed as his desk doing research: looking through case files for the hot shot detectives — kept out of the main action again.

Mike understood that, for a while, Andy was wary of association with his hot-headed, hard-charging ex-partner. He knew Andy blamed him for their demotion, though they both knew the jerks they busted were mobbed up, with city officials in their pockets. But ultimately, he and Andy remained friends. And they both loved to surf.  After riding a satisfying set of waves, Mike asked Andy to run down a name for him: some German-speaking guy named Dr. Huber.

Andy laughed. He didn’t have to work hard on that one.

“If we’re talking about the same Dr. Huber, then he’s on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. Dr. Otto Huber. Fifty-something years old. He’s a former Nazi physicist. Some kind of uber-genius. There’s a price on his head. We want him to work for our side. The Russians want him, too.”

Andy explained that in these six years after the war, Dr. Huber managed to elude the Soviet and American governments, both hungry for his technological expertise, as they ramped up production of atomic weapons and advanced their rocket programs. “If both sides can’t get Huber to come in from the cold and join them,” said Andy, “they’d all rather see him dead.”

Andy looked Mike straight in the eyes. He knew when his old partner’s wheels were turning. “Why the interest in Huber? You hear anything about his whereabouts?”

Mike played dumb. “Nothing solid, Andy. Just heard the name and was wondering who he was. I haven’t been to the post office lately, so I didn’t see his mug on the poster.”

“You’re full of shit,” said Andy. He knew Mike wasn’t asking about some random guy just because his name came up in conversation. Mike was a UCLA college boy, but Andy still couldn’t see his surf bum pal getting into a casual chat about nuclear physics.

As they lugged their longboards off the beach, Andy warned Mike. “If you know anything about this Huber fella, you should go to the Feds. Don’t try to bust him on your own, Mike. He’s a dangerous, fanatical bastard. A real Nazi dead-ender. Taking him down is a job for the G-men.”

Mike asked, “Is there a reward?”

“Yeah,” Andy replied, his concern growing evident. “There’s a big one. Ten grand. But you can’t spend it when you’re dead.”

“Thanks, buddy,” replied Mike with a grin. “I love you, too.”

Andy slugged him in the arm. “See you next week, my friend,” he said, walking away. “That is, if you’re still alive.”