When I first saw what the SS were calling the Atlantis Cube, I thought I must have already gone insane, and was surely in a fantasy construct produced by my own tortured mind. A mind fleeing the reality of Nazi Germany.

And if I were truly schizophrenic, I was most likely experiencing these fantasies from within a Nazi camp, awaiting death. The Reich, brimming with compassion as they were, couldn't tolerate anyone who didn't live up to their Master Race standards, and by the end of the war, had exterminated two hundred thousand physically or mentally disabled innocents, to add to their list of atrocities.

In the end, as I gazed upon the Atlantis Cube in awe, I decided I had to believe it was real. What other choice did I have?

The cube was everything the psychopathic head of the SS had said it was.

And more.

The small object throbbed with the infinite, like an entire star shrunk down to cubic form. Like an omnipotent deity, utterly glorious and terrifying. The human psyche wasn't built to behold something this magnificent, this unstoppable. It was akin to staring into a bottomless abyss or an active volcano. Or standing before an approaching tidal wave, or a four-story wall of fire. Human breath couldn't help but stop in the face of such ultimate power. Human knees couldn't help but turn to jelly in the face of a threat too awesome to truly comprehend.

But while having the chance to view the cube was a priceless experience, my day-to-day life was a nightmare. Week after week, month after month, I experienced hardships, cruelty, and loneliness without end, a suffering that went beyond anything that physical torture might deliver. It was a cold, sparse life, controlled to the inch by paranoid sadists, without a single woman among our contingent to soften the fanatical intensity.

For much of two years I was lost and alone. I was in the wilderness, both figuratively and literally—the wilderness of Canada.

Himmler hadn't lied about the cube being behind enemy lines, as the Canadians had joined the war in 1939, more than two years before the Americans.

I had memorized an atlas when I was four, and I knew that Canada had the second largest land mass of any nation, just ahead of the United States and China, and the number of square miles of wilderness within its boundaries was immense.

I had little idea precisely where I was within this vast nation, but it hardly mattered. All I knew was that I had been deposited into the heart of a Canadian forest, which soon became my entire universe.

Apparently, there was a tale in some ancient mystical text that Himmler had acquired about a man, an explorer, who had stumbled upon a magical cube in the forest, located in this general region of Canada, which emitted powerful beams of light from its corners. But try as he might, the man was unable to carry it away, or even budge it a millimeter. He was forced to return home, and was never able to find the object again. Even so, the man spread the legend of the cube far and wide. A legend that no one ever took seriously.

No one but the head of the SS, that is, obsessed with proving a warped thesis of Aryan ancestry. Himmler had gone to the trouble and expense of sending a large team to comb the Canadian wilderness region cited in this fable, just before Germany declared war on the world.

It had been a horrible misuse of resources and effort. Of course the fabled cube wasn't real. And even if it was, the odds of finding it were exceedingly small. Which just goes to show, sometimes the Universe decides to reward the foolish over the wise.

By the time I arrived on site, the encampment was quite extensive. It consisted of five sizable buildings, constructed from thin, prefabricated sheets of metal, each separated from the others by large swaths of trees to make the structures less conspicuous. Each roof was entirely covered by a canvas painting affixed to a canopy of chicken wire. A painting of the surrounding woods, which conferred surprisingly effective camouflage when seen from above.

A runway had been carved into the forest a little more than a quarter mile from the encampment as well, painted a mottled green and brown, although this was only used to transport personnel to or from Germany. Food and supplies were parachuted down to us by low-flying planes, under cover of darkness, about twice a month, although members of the SS took to hunting as well, to obtain food that was decidedly fresher.

The distance between Germany and Canada represented the operation's biggest challenge. But this had been overcome by transforming a tiny desert island in the Hudson Bay, the second largest bay in the world, encompassing almost half a million square miles, into a refueling center, with fuel transported there by seagoing ships in the strictest secrecy and by cover of night. In this way, long-range transport planes could land on the island and get a full tank, more than enough for them to land on our makeshift runway and return to the island for additional fuel to get them back to Berlin.

The secret encampment housed thirty-seven scientists from a number of disciplines, including chemistry, physics, and geology, and twenty-five Waffen SS thugs, who watched over the scientists and patrolled the forest for miles around.

With Hitler's approval, Himmler had grown the once tiny SS—by far the most racist of any part of the Nazi war machine—into a behemoth that consisted of divisions with a variety of responsibilities. One group served as Hitler's personal bodyguards. Another, the Totenkopfverbande, or Death's Head Unit, ran the Nazi's extermination camps. And yet another, the military branch of the SS, the Waffen, or Armed SS—basically Hitler's private army—was comprised of hundreds of thousands of combat troops.

Having to live at the mercy of twenty-five soldiers serving in Germany's regular army, the Wehrmacht, would have been bad, but possibly tolerable. But living at the mercy of twenty-five members of the Waffen SS was most certainly not. These men had been intensely indoctrinated into Nazi ideology, were fanatically loyal to Adolf Hitler, and seemed to thrive on bullying and cruelty.

If only the Canadian government had discovered what was going on under their noses, our contingent wouldn't have stood a chance, as isolated from German forces as we were. But, alas, this was not to be.

All in all, I spent two years in this forest. Two years that seemed like decades, and that aged me even more. The two most arduous, horrible, and tortured years of my life.

But also my most productive.

Shut off from love, comfort, and any distractions of civilization, forced to endure constant venom and sadism from seemingly all quarters, my mind fled to higher planes, tried to lose itself in prolonged bursts of theory and intuitive scientific thinking.

Also, trying to solve the impossible had a way of freeing my mind, getting me to think of hidden forces and dimensions. Given the Atlantis Cube's existence, what idea could possibly be too wild for me to consider?

I have no doubt that the last three months of this two-year period were my most productive of all. With all due modesty, I'm convinced that during this time I achieved breakthroughs that not even Einstein and Faraday, standing on the shoulders of another Einstein and Faraday, could even begin to imagine.

But I'll never know the full extent of the scientific insights I achieved, as my memory of these months is gone entirely. Wiped clean, no doubt, by some voodoo energy of the cube I inadvertently unleashed.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I was miserable, but so were we all. The forest was magnificent. Camping here for two weeks, surrounded by the glory of nature, could have made for a great vacation. But being banished here for years without end, not once returning to civilization, was a nightmare. Especially since a camper would choose his two-week stay during the spring or summer months, not during the rainy season or the middle of a frigid, snowy winter. And no vacationer had ever imagined that bringing along dozens of SS psychopaths might be fun.

We had electric generators that enabled us to power certain experiments, but electricity was in short supply for other luxuries. Running water and indoor plumbing soon began to seem like distant memories. We were filthy for much of the time, mostly bathing only after collecting rainwater or melting snow.

We were all aware that this was wartime, and men around the world were facing much worse duty than we were, in bigger hellholes, with tanks and bombers and machine guns trying to cut them down. But during the cruel, endless winters, this was little consolation. Knowing that others were suffering worse than we were was helpful, but it didn't lessen the actual suffering.

And we all blamed the despised cube for our plight. We had been exiled to the bowels of hell, and solving the cube was the only way out.

And it was not cooperating. Nothing we did could affect it one iota. It mocked us.

And the longer we went without making progress the more irate Himmler and the Fuhrer became. They made their fury known to the commander of our secret encampment, Colonel Bruno Zimmerman, and he made sure that this venom was passed on to us—with interest.

So we took abuse from the SS, tinkered with the most advanced equipment of the day, and worked on esoteric scientific theories, trying anything and everything, while the cube just sat there laughing at us.

Still, during this time I made breakthroughs that surprised even me. For instance, I proved the existence of nullpunktsenergie—zero-point energy—something my countryman Max Planck had theorized to exist in 1911. My experimental proof was more complete and profound even than the work of Dutch physicist Hendrik Casimir a few years later, which ultimately gained him considerable notoriety.

In any case, I believe that this discovery is what led me down the path that enabled me to finally unlock the cube.

But, again, I'm getting ahead of myself.

For the most part, every day blended into every other, but there was one day, about fourteen months in, that changed everything.

I was working out complex fifth-dimensional mathematics, in furtherance of an idea I had to unify relativity and quantum mechanics, when Colonel Zimmerman and his second-in-command, Major Kurt Hahn, rushed around the compound, flushing out all but five members of the SS as if they were quail in the brush.

Apparently, a Canadian family of four, lost for days on a hike, had made it within sight of our encampment, a clear sign that the SS soldiers manning various outposts and patrols had been asleep at the wheel. Sadly, the family had seen one of our buildings and had made the mistake of thinking it would be their salvation, when just the opposite was true.

Zimmerman and Hahn were furious, and sent all their men, save five, out to search for additional Canadians until the wee hours of the night. This was done more as a way to punish those who had dared to miss this wandering family than with the expectation that the SS troops would find any others.

At dawn the next morning, all of the scientists gathered outside at Zimmerman's insistence, so he could demonstrate his utter ruthlessness, in case we had a doubt. We didn't. Neither he, nor his second-in-command, Major Hahn, needed to worry that we might ever think them human.

The family members had been tied securely to four tall, thin poplar trees growing almost in a line, and had been left ungagged. Zimmerman and Hahn wanted us to hear their pleas for mercy.

The family members were terrified, and rightly so. Nothing like being in Canada, thousands of miles from any front, and coming across dozens of SS soldiers in your backyard.

The mother and father looked kind, compassionate. I could see it in their teary eyes. Even in their panic, their love for each other was readily apparent. They had two little girls, one who looked to be about eight, and another who looked about six. And even at this young age, both knew that they had walked out of the frying pan—and into a nuclear furnace.

Although a nuclear furnace was bound to be more merciful.

Tears streamed down the faces of all four, and the parents pleaded for mercy in English, a language I had spoken like a native since I was four. Not mercy for themselves, because they understood that this wouldn't happen, but mercy for their innocent, helpless daughters.

The father knew the German word bitte, for please, and little else, and was beseeching us for mercy, repeating the word over and over again, in between begging for us to spare his children.

Most of the scientists looked properly horrified, but the two SS commandants of our encampment remained stone-faced, unaffected, and even seemed to be enjoying the intense suffering of their prey—animals toying with their food.

Utterly sickened, I walked silently back inside the main building, the largest one, which housed the cube in a separate room in the back. Just because this poor family was as good as dead, and I knew I couldn't save them, didn't mean I had to watch it happen.

Major Hahn tore after me like a cheetah chasing a gazelle. "Where do you think you're going?" he bellowed from behind me as he entered the building. Himmler had made certain the SS here were far rougher on me than on any other scientist. My attempt to win the Reichsfuhrer over had backfired, hard, and I paid the price every day.

Himmler needed me, which is why I was still alive, but he despised me for being an Aryan of undeniable genius who he knew mocked everything he believed in. And he believed that the only chance to make a diamond of me was to have his men here apply soul-crushing pressure, which took the form of contempt and continual mistreatment.

"I have some work to do," I answered tiredly. "I've come up with a possible new way to get at the cube."

"That can wait!" yelled Hahn, clutching my arm in a painful grip and dragging me back outside. He pulled me through the thick throng of scientists and to the front, closest to the four victims.

"Herr Richter here thinks he's better than us!" he announced to the entire crowd, which consisted of Colonel Zimmerman, a collection of scientists, and five SS soldiers. "He thinks he's too good to witness any suffering! We all know that you refused to join the Hitler Youth," he added, now addressing me directly. "That you demanded special treatment. That you believe yourself to be our moral and intellectual superior.

"Well, you're about to turn eighteen," Hahn continued, "and this is the perfect occasion for you to get down off your high horse. To get your hands dirty!"

The major handed me a gun. "Shoot them all in the head, Herr Richter."

My mouth dropped open, and I looked back at him in horror.

"Now!" he shouted. "Do it! Shoot them in the head this instant!"

I just stood there, frozen.

Hahn's lip curled up into a malevolent sneer. "If you don't shoot them," he hissed, "then I'll do the same to you!"


"How long until the Chinese commandos arrive on their dirt bikes?" asked Major Justin Boyd out loud.

"If they maintain their current average speed," replied Sage through his and Kelly Connolly's comms, "I estimate in three minutes, thirty-eight seconds. But they are not moving close to maximum speed. Apparently, they are exercising a degree of caution."

"Who can blame them?" said Kelly. "You just tore through their force of twenty soldiers without breaking a sweat—literally."

"I just lost the feed from the one drone surveilling them," reported Sage. "I assume it was spotted and brought down. Would you like me to send the other dragonflies on an intercept course to get eyes on the approaching commandos?"

"Yes," replied Boyd. "Immediately."

"Carrying out this order now. I can also report that just before the drone went down, it identified another Chinese soldier hanging even farther back."

"Display this soldier," said Boyd, and an instant later the man's face seemed to hover in front of the American major, fully annotated, indicating his facial recognition data was in Sage's database. He was Commander Shen Ning, and US intelligence had identified him as a real up-and-comer in the Chinese military. Best guess was that he wasn't enhanced like his eight comrades on the bikes, but he was known to be both clever and ruthless.

Boyd had no doubt that this was the man in charge, the man who had masterminded this brilliant, self-driving-car-assisted ambush, and the man whose voice had emanated from a silver soccer-ball-shaped hologram. This was a warrior not to be taken lightly, even without enhancements.

Boyd called a halt and unzipped his duffel bag once again, this time pulling out a device that looked like nothing more than a black, plastic TV remote, with a tight coil of thick, insulated green wire emerging from one end, and a single button in its middle.

"Sage, tell me when all eight dirt-bikes are within half a mile of us."

"Will do," acknowledged the AI. "I estimate they will reach this point in two minutes, ten seconds."

"How many dragonfly drones are close enough to return here in that time period?" he asked, continuing to speak aloud since no one but Kelly could hear.

"Three," replied Sage.

"Fly them into my duffel bag at best possible speed," he ordered.

After Sage confirmed the order, Kelly eyed the device Boyd now held. "So what do you have in mind?" she asked.

"Have you ever heard of an EMP?"

"Of course," said Kelly. "Stands for electromagnetic pulse. Nukes produce them. They wipe out all electronics in their path. So you don't have to hit a country with a nuke to do damage. Just explode one above a city and watch as their power grid goes down, airplanes and cars crash, every phone and computer gets fried, and civilization returns to the Dark Ages."

"I like a woman who knows her EMP," said Boyd wryly. "You're correct. And this device," he continued, nodding at the object in his right hand, "can generate a mini-EMP. Most people don't realize that EMPs come in all sizes and power levels. You don't need a nuke. If you go online, you can even find recipes for do-it-yourself EMP guns."

"Definitely something I wouldn't have guessed," said Kelly. "But I assume that your device only has a half-mile range, right?"

"Exactly," replied Boyd with a smile. "Once they're in range, which should be in less than a minute, I'll point and shoot in their direction. Since we'll be behind the origin of the pulse, our electronics will stay safe and snug, while theirs will be fried. The pulse won't kill the soldiers, but it will cripple some of their equipment, and stop their dirt bikes cold."

Kelly brightened upon hearing this last.

"Given that they're enhanced," continued Boyd, "and I have..." He paused. He was going to say, I have you to slow me down, but thought better of it. "Given that they're enhanced," he began again, "a half mile will put them too close for us to outrun. But this will buy some time for Plan B."

"What's Plan B?"

Boyd grimaced. "No time to tell you," he said, which was a lie. The truth was that he had no interest in telling her. That he was ashamed and horrified to tell her. Plan B was a means of killing that he found detestable. Unconscionable. But in this case, unavoidable.

"The three drones just returned to your duffel bag," said Sage.

Kelly's eyes narrowed. "I'm standing a few feet away from the duffel," she said, "and I didn't see or hear a thing."

"They're built to be soundless and nearly invisible."

"All eight bikes are now within half a mile of your position," said the AI.

"I'll be creating the pulse in just a few seconds," he told Kelly, knowing that she had heard Sage's report. "I want them to get a little bit closer. Just to be sure."

Boyd was moving to depress the button on his EMP gun when his comm detected a sound much too faint to hear with the naked ear, but Sage recognized it for what it was immediately. "Two hostile drones at twelve o'clock!" she blurted out urgently at four times normal speed.

Boyd dived to the ground and spun Kelly down with him, hitting the button on his EMP gun as he did so.

He rolled and came up searching for the drones, but realized immediately that the electromagnetic pulse would have surely knocked them out. He blew out a sigh of relief.

"Don't worry about the drones," he said, turning back to Kelly. "I fried them in time."

But Kelly Connolly didn't reply. Instead, she remained flat on the ground, still and unbreathing, showing no signs of life.

The EMP hadn't taken out the drones in time after all. One of them had gotten off a shot before going down.

A shot that had connected squarely with his companion.

Boyd lifted her gently in his arms, and his eyes welled up with tears. "Nooo!" he screamed in anguish, overwhelmed by emotions more potent than he had ever experienced. This woman had somehow come to mean more to him than he had even known.

But this realization had only come now, when it was already too late.


I stared at the gun that the SS major, Kurt Hahn, had shoved into my hand, and at the poor family I had just been ordered to execute, each tied to a tree like a human scarecrow.

I was nearly paralyzed, but couldn't help but notice that Colonel Zimmerman was looking on approvingly, surprised by this spectacle brought on by his second-in-command, but wholly supportive. No doubt Zimmerman saw this as a great way to beat me down further, and as a sort of cruel, demented entertainment.

I evaluated the situation in an instant. Rationally, intellectually, this poor family was going to die. There was no way out for them. And morally, I knew I wouldn't be in any way responsible for these deaths. I was as much a tool in someone else's hands as was the gun.

The father and mother, still firmly tied to trees, and still facing us, teared up even more, the last bit of moisture in their bodies serving the purpose of signaling severe distress to fellow humans, begging for compassion.

Unfortunately for them, compassion was an emotion the SS monsters in charge were incapable of feeling.

Tears began to roll down my own face as I gazed upon the heartbreaking sight of the two small, helpless girls. These innocent children should be basking in the warmth of their family and playing with dolls, not facing an execution simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I looked at the gun in my hand and then back at the family, and the solution to the equation was clear. I had to do this. I had absolutely no choice.

And yet, here was a moment beyond math, beyond rationality.

I realized that I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it.

I doubted Zimmerman would allow his second-in-command to kill me. But I would surely be beaten severely for my refusal, and then treated even worse from now on than I was already being treated, which was difficult to even conceive.

My refusal would turn my life into an even greater nightmare, while not changing the fate of these helpless innocents in the least. Still, I couldn't stare into the large, teary eyes of a six-year-old girl and calmly snuff out her life. And this applied equally to each of them.

The fact that I would be an unwilling weapon, forced by others to kill, would be of little consolation. I might be a weapon, but I was a sentient weapon, with the power to refuse.

I shook my head wearily. "I won't do it," I whispered softly.

"What did you say?" demanded Major Hahn in disbelief.

"I said I won't do it!" I repeated, this time so forcefully I surprised even myself.

Hahn slapped me in the face so hard that I thought my head would be ripped from my shoulders, and pain erupted from my cheek. An open-handed slap, yes, but much harder than I had become accustomed to.

"You have one minute to shoot them all!" he barked. "Or I won't just shoot you. I'll break every bone in your body before I let you die."

I glared at him with a searing hatred, refusing to be a sheep any longer. "You won't kill me," I said defiantly. "But I can promise you this. Break one bone in my body and I'll kill myself. I swear to it! And then you and Colonel Zimmerman can explain to the Reichsfuhrer how you let his prize genius die here."

Hahn hit me again, this time with a closed fist, and tore a gash in my cheek, which began to slowly bleed.

"The Reichsfuhrer is well aware of your insolence," he said through clenched teeth. "You now have thirty seconds to end their lives," he added cruelly.

I let the gun fall from my hand and to the ground, shaking despite myself. If I had miscalculated, and they were really ready to kill me now, so be it. At this point, death would be a blessing.

Major Hahn looked at me with utter contempt and picked up the gun I had dropped. He took several steps toward the nearby row of captives and shot each between the eyes at point-blank range, including the two little girls, ignoring their terror as they cried and screamed hysterically, having just seen their parents murdered before their eyes, and knowing they were next.

I fell to my knees and vomited on the forest floor.

"Get up!" demanded Hahn.

I wiped the vomit from my lips and chin with several fallen leaves nearby and rose.

"Kill me now," I said in resignation, glassy-eyed. "Please."

Hahn glared at me in contempt once again. "Not a chance!" he bellowed so everyone in the clearing could hear. "Death would be too easy a punishment for you."

Zimmerman ordered the gathering of scientists back inside to return to their work.

Hahn waited for them to disperse before turning to his commander. "Request permission to discipline this pathetic excuse for a human, Colonel," he said.

"Permission granted," said Zimmerman. "But don't break any bones, Major. Don't even injure him," he added, clearly disappointed to have to add this restriction. "The Fuhrer and Reichsfuhrer both expect him to solve this cube and bring them the superweapon they crave."

The colonel frowned. "I just got an update last night," he added. "Apparently, one of the other superweapons the Reich is pursuing, something called an Atom Bomb—which the Reich has had high hopes for, but which I've always thought to be fantastical nonsense—isn't going well. Which makes our success here even more critical."

"Understood, sir," said the major.

He carefully undid the rope that still pinned an adult male corpse to a tree. "I'll take young Otto away from here, so his screams don't disturb the other scientists. I'll hang him by his arms and ankles from a tree for extended periods. He'll live, and I'll make sure he isn't injured, but the pain will become excruciating."

"Excellent choice, Major Hahn," said Zimmerman.

The major shoved me forward to begin our trek away from the encampment, baring his teeth like fangs and relishing what was to come. "Don't wait up," he said to Zimmerman, who returned his cruel smile.

We walked for almost twenty long minutes through dense forest before finally stopping.

"Sit down," said Hahn in low tones when we came to a halt, gesturing to a large rock outcropping that could serve as a natural seat. But as he said these words, his face transformed from raging barbarian to something else. Softer. Thoughtful. Human, even.

Surely, I was reading him wrong.

"Let's talk," he said quietly when I sat, making no move to do the same.

He carefully surveyed our surroundings. Even though we were at least a mile from our encampment, it was possible that one or more of his men might venture near us on a perimeter patrol. The fact that he was worried that we might be overheard was either a good sign—or a very, very bad one.

"First off," he began, "I'm not going to hang you by your arms and legs. Just say that I did when we return."

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing. I just want to talk."

I stared at him suspiciously as a pair of squirrels scurried up a nearby tree. "Why?" I asked. "What do you want?"

"I want to help you."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Sure you do," I said. "After more than a year of treating me like something you scraped off your boot. After trying to force me to kill little girls, and then doing so yourself. After almost breaking my cheekbone."

Hahn took a deep breath. "Look... Otto," he began. "I'm truly sorry about that. But we're of like mind, you and I. I've sworn to devote the rest of my life to undoing some of the evil that Hitler has unleashed upon the world. There are more good men than you know in the Nazi ranks. Fewer than there should be, but more than you know. The problem is that Hitler has seen to it that no one can trust anyone else. It's never clear who is a spy. Or who has become brainwashed but is pretending otherwise. I never thought I'd see the day when young children would be turning their loving parents into the secret police. But even this has been happening—for many years now."

"Are you saying you thought that I was a spy?"

"I thought you might be, yes. Himmler painted you as having deep-seated anti-Reich sentiment." He raised his eyebrows. "Which might be true. Or which might make you the perfect lure to draw out traitors to the Reich, whom you could then expose."

My eyes widened. As twisted as his logic was, it was accurate. And it was logic that I, myself, had used. I had initially hoped to make friends among the scientists, but this was not to be. Himmler had made sure to poison the well, to isolate me, even from them. He had fostered jealousy and competition among the scientists, thinking that this would somehow improve the chances we would succeed, when it was sure to do just the opposite.

But worse, even if he had tried to foster friendship and camaraderie, I knew I could never be sure whom to trust, even among the scientists. Nazi Germany was built upon a foundation of mistrust and fear, of justifiable paranoia.

George Orwell captured this culture of distrust and oppression brilliantly four years after the end of the war in his book 1984. He wrote of the Thought Police, Gestapo wannabees who monitored and punished any citizen committing "thoughtcrimes" against the state, in many cases luring them to do so by pretending to be in solidarity with their goals. The book was presented as a tale of the distant future, but it was really a chronicle of the recent past, with Hitler, the SS, and the Gestapo the clear antecedent for Big Brother.

"To trust someone in these times," continued Hahn, "is to put your life in their hands."

He sighed. "But I'm doing that now, Otto. I'm trusting you with my life. Because I was finally able to give you the ultimate test. One that enabled me to confirm where you really stand, once and for all. And you passed with flying colors, as I hoped you would."

"Are you seriously saying that trying to force me to kill innocent children was nothing more than a test?" I spat in disgust.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. And your refusal, even upon threat of death, told me everything I needed to know. I'm very proud of you, Otto. And very impressed."

I shrank bank in horror. "But you killed them without a thought. And it looked like you enjoyed it."

The major's face fell, and he looked as pained as if I had knifed him in the stomach. "It made me sick," he said in disgust. "Absolutely sick. A blight on my soul—one of many—that I can never erase. But it served a greater purpose. This poor family was going to die today, one way or another. They were dead the moment they saw us. You know it too."

He paused to let this sink in. "But for me to do lasting damage to the Reich, I have to do it from within. I have to earn the trust of my superiors. And the best way to do this, the best way to advance, is to pretend to be even more ruthless than they are. Even more psychopathic. I've been brutal to you since the beginning. But think about what this has gained us. Do you imagine Zimmerman suspects that I'm having this conversation with you now? That I'm being nice to you? That I want to be your ally? Do you imagine that when we return, and I tell him I tortured you, he'll doubt my word?"

His logic was unassailable. "So you've gone out of your way to make my life miserable—because you're really on my side?"

"I hoped we were on the same side," replied Hahn. "I was sure about me. But I couldn't risk everything until I was sure about you. So I've been biding my time, staying above suspicion, and monitoring your progress in solving the cube. And you've made more than the others realize, haven't you? I know a little science. You've proven the existence of zero-point energy. The other scientists pretend not to be impressed, but I know better. It's a mysterious, invisible force that no one has demonstrated before. If anything can unlock the cube, it's advances like this one."

I continued to be struck by the stark dichotomy of the past hour. I had gone from being pressured into committing a despicable act, to believing I was seconds away from being tortured, to now learning that the man I hated the most in all the world might be my only ally. It was dizzying.

I watched a stick bug walk along the ground and for the first time in hours allowed myself to hear the chirping and singing of the myriad birds all around me.

"It became clear to me early on," continued Hahn, "that you were obsessed with solving the cube—before anyone else. I reasoned that if you aren't a spy, a lure, and truly despise Hitler and everything he stands for, like I do, you're obsessed for the right reasons. Not to gain personal glory, and not to ensure a victorious Reich. But because if any other scientist beats you to the punch, they might deliver Hitler his superweapon. I grew to believe that if you solved it first, you planned to destroy it." He paused. "Even if this cost you your life."

I studied him in astonishment. He was right in every respect.

"You couldn't be more wrong," I said firmly. "My goal is to repair my image by demonstrating my loyalty to the Nazi Party. I plan to solve the cube and help our Fuhrer win a glorious victory. So that I might eventually become the chief scientist of the Third Reich. What you just suggested would be treason."

Hahn sighed. "Yeah, I know. I don't expect you to admit it. You'd be crazy to. I've abused you, and now I say I'm your friend. This could easily be a plan to gain your confidence, so I can hang you with it later."

I remained silent.

"I can't blame you for not trusting me," he continued. "After all, I only began to trust you completely an hour ago, after putting you through an obscene test that no one should ever have to face. But even if you never come around, I plan to help you to the best of my ability. My hope is that one day, through my actions, I'll be able to earn your trust."

I considered. "Help me, how?"

"First, I should tell you that I have been helping you. I'm responsible for delivering personnel reports back to headquarters. And I've been giving you glowing reviews. Telling headquarters that you remain our best hope, and that I believe you are giving maximum effort. All this is true, they just don't know that your efforts are at cross-purposes to theirs. I'm also giving you high marks for coming around to Nazi ideology, telling them that I believe our indoctrination discussions have been effective."

"Why would you do that?" I asked.

"Two reasons. One, glowing reviews ensure your parents remain safe. And two, if this quest to understand the cube ends in failure, which seems likely, and you're recalled, I want you to be trusted. I've been implying that you're closer to a breakthrough than you really are, just to be sure they don't pull up stakes prematurely. If this project is canceled, I believe they'll want your genius on the atom bomb program, which Zimmerman just mentioned. It's apparently not going well, but we can't be sure this won't change. So if you are assigned to this program, I need you to be more trusted than you were at the start here, so you can make sure it's sabotaged."

I studied Major Kurt Hahn with newfound respect. I had thought him nothing more than a cruel buffoon, one sure to lose to a rooster in a game of checkers. Instead, he had been playing high-level chess all along.

"But this is how I have been helping you," he added. "You wanted to know how I can help you going forward. So I'll tell you. I can see to it that you sleep with the cube."

My eyes widened. I had requested this very thing so often that Zimmerman had finally threatened to cut out my tongue the next time I did.

I had told him that I found the cube soothing and that it would help me sleep. That I was often struck by eureka ideas while I tossed and turned at night, but ideas that were quickly forgotten. I had insisted that sleeping in the same room with the cube would allow me to test my ideas the moment I awoke, before they vanished.

This was all nonsense, of course. Like everyone else, I found the cube extremely disquieting. No one in their right mind would want to sleep anywhere near it, even if it was covered by a metal box that blocked its blinding rays.

But I needed to overcome my aversion and sleep in the same room with it anyway. After a month or two, the SS would take this strange behavior for granted, and not give it a second thought. It would be just another example of the inexplicable peculiarities of genius.

Once this happened—assuming I continued to make breakthroughs—I could awaken in the wee hours of the night and carry out experiments, very quietly, without anyone being the wiser. In this way, if I did solve the cube, I could do so without anyone knowing. And I could destroy it without anyone knowing.

My guess was that I couldn't destroy it without also destroying myself, and maybe even hundreds of miles of forest, but it would be well worth it. Giving Hitler the kind of power the Atlantis Cube could unlock would lead to the deaths of uncountable millions. Not to mention ensuring that humanity would be enslaved for decades, or even centuries, by a self-perpetuating ruling class of psychopaths, making the world depicted in Orwell's book seem like a paradise by comparison.

Hahn waited patiently for my response.

"Why would you bring up sleeping with the cube?" I asked him. "I haven't mentioned that in a long time."

"Because it's vital to your goal—our goal—and we both know it. We both want you to be in position to conduct secret experiments on the cube, so you can discover a way to destroy it."

I wanted to nod my agreement, but shook my head in feigned disgust, instead. "Once again, you have me all wrong," I protested. "The cube soothes me. And sometimes I awaken at night with fleeting ideas that I want to try. These are the only reasons I want to sleep in the same room with it."

"Whatever you say, Otto. Again, I don't blame you for not trusting me."

"So how would you manage this, anyway?" I asked. "The colonel is dead set against it."

"I've given it a lot of thought," he replied. "I'll tell Zimmerman that while you were hanging upside down from a tree, I got you to admit that the cube evokes a primal fear within you. It evokes a primal fear within everyone, as Zimmerman well knows. So I'll tell him that you only requested to sleep with it to appear willing to go the extra mile, so your parents wouldn't be harmed, knowing that your requests would be denied."

I nodded as I guessed where he was going.

"Then I'll suggest to the colonel that we should force you to sleep near this object," he continued, "because it spooks you so bad. As punishment for your disobedience. And as a way to make a man of you, and to get you even more receptive to accepting Nazi ideology."

A smile slowly crept across my face, despite myself. It was an inspired strategy. Zimmerman would never agree to such a thing if he thought it's what I wanted. But if he thought it was a punishment, that was a different story.

Hahn sighed. "I do a good job of pretending to be a psychopath," he said in disgust. "Too good of a job. But the colonel is one. Trust me, if I convince him this will be your worst nightmare, he'll go for it."

I turned away in thought, but didn't reply.

"I assure you, Otto, that we believe the same things. Hitler is as insane as he is evil. I've had to become evil myself to fit in, to solidify my cover, and to excel. But this just makes me even more determined to stop this bastard and make amends. I'd give my life twenty times over to do this."

He paused. "All I ask is that if you do figure out the cube, you promise to destroy it. Unless you can use it to destroy them. Either way, you can't hesitate."

"I won't," I said under my breath.

"Sorry. I didn't quite catch that."

I nodded. He wasn't meant to. "Look, Major, you've said a lot of traitorous things. But I'm not going to turn you in. Because I know that you've simply been testing me. Of course I don't want to destroy the cube. All I want to do is solve it, as commanded, and provide it to the beloved Reich. You can have total faith in me."

I paused. "Heil Hitler!" I added for good measure, thrusting out my arm.

Hahn frowned, not returning my salute. "We both know that Hitler can't be healed," he said. "My dream is to one day return to Germany, more trusted than ever, and be in a position to kill that monster. Destroy the evil little prick, once and for all. In the meantime, it's great to finally be convinced that you aren't part of a clever trap set by the Reichsfuhrer to ensnare me.

"So when others are watching," he added, "I'll continue treating you with contempt. But behind the scenes, I'll be helping you achieve our goals. If you create revolutionary technology, I'll help you hide it. If you need equipment you don't want other scientists to know about, I'll acquire it for you. I hope that eventually you'll come to trust me, and know that there is at least one other person in this with you."

He paused. "But even if you can never trust me, I'll be doing my absolute best to help you defy the Reich."

As I gazed into the eyes of the man I had come to despise above all others, who had made my life a living hell, I decided that I believed him. Not that he still didn't need to earn my trust. This could still be a double-cross. He said he would help me solve the cube so I could destroy it. But he could be pretending to help me, only to swoop in and hand the spoils to Hitler himself. Or maybe his goal was to use the power of the cube, not to end Hitler, but to replace him.

I couldn't help but flash on the numerous cruelties I had witnessed Hahn commit, including the recent execution of two children. Could a decent human being bring himself to be so utterly cruel and callous to maintain his cover?

Maybe so. But maybe not.

Despite these misgivings, something in my gut told me he was being sincere.

And I began to feel a glimmer of hope for the first time since I could remember.


Justin Boyd sat on the leaf-strewn ground and cradled the lifeless figure of Kelly Connolly, wondering how she had come to mean so much to him in such a short time.

And now he had lost her. Despite possessing superhuman reflexes, he had been a moment too slow.

His eyes widened as he detected the slightest rise and fall of her chest, and the obvious finally hit him. Of course she wasn't dead. He had been on too many missions where the prospect of either side using non-lethal force was laughable.

But not this time. This time the Chinese wanted him alive. And even more so, they wanted his scientist companion alive. And Boyd hadn't seen any blood, just an unconscious figure he assumed was dead.

He searched over Kelly's fallen form and quickly found a tranquilizer dart in her leg, which he promptly pulled out, while his AI confirmed the presence of a slow but steady pulse.

Boyd closed his eyes and basked in pure, unadulterated relief—but only for a moment.

Disabling the dirt bikes had slowed the Chinese commandos down, but the clock was still ticking.

He lowered Kelly gently to the ground and reached into his duffel bag once more, this time unzipping a small inner compartment.

"Sage, activate the HK drones," he ordered subvocally.

There were nine remaining hostiles and he only had eight HKs, but he could easily handle the unenhanced Commander Shen, no matter how brilliant a tactician and strategist he was.

"I assume you have enough visual history on the eight commandos who were on the bikes to differentiate between them all," he added.

"Affirmative," replied the AI.

"Assign each HK drone to one of the eight and let them fly. Have them target a centimeter above the bridge of the nose."

"Launching HKs now," confirmed Sage.

"Tile the feeds from all eight drones and display them on my lenses," said the major, and an instant later a display appeared a foot in front of his face, showing eight video images of a tree that was just beyond where the HK drones were now emerging from his duffel bag. All eight tiles displayed the same tree, just at slightly different angles, but their views would diverge considerably as the mission proceeded.

Boyd watched the eight tiny quad-copter drones hover above his bag, just for a moment, before streaking off through the trees toward their targets. Each was just slightly larger than his thumb.

And each was an abomination.

But they were abominations that contained breathtaking technologies. Night vision, noise cancellation, and advanced facial recognition, along with decision-making capabilities that enabled them to actively conceal themselves at all times. And one other item. A potent explosive packed into their minuscule nose cones.

These tiny drones were basically autonomous bullets. Bullets capable of hunting a victim down, of stalking him or her for hours on end. Tiny self-guided missiles that never missed, and that were treacherously difficult to bring down, moving as they did at over a hundred miles an hour and capable of evasive action. Smart bullets able to navigate around corners and obstacles on the way to a target, striking with perfect accuracy every time to blow a hole in a helpless victim's forehead.

While US black ops had dubbed these drones HKs, for Hunter-Killers, they were more commonly known around the world as slaughterbots, after a short film of the same name made years earlier. The seven-minute film was fictional but showed simulated graphic scenes of attacks by these lethal, autonomous microdrones, and it had gone viral, shocking the conscience of the world.

As well it should have. These weapons, whether called HKs or slaughterbots, were utterly despicable. Inhuman. And recently deemed by international treaty—signed by numerous countries, including China and America—as being too barbaric even for war, along with bioweapons, chemical weapons, and nerve gases.

And the HKs would only get more abhorrent from here. At some point soon, the technology would advance so that each bullet could take out more than one victim. Like the whistle-powered arrow from the movie Guardians of the Galaxy that had unerringly pierced through dozens of hostiles in seconds, zigzagging to hit each one in turn, this development would represent the ultimate horror show.

Still, Boyd carried these eight illegal HKs to use as a weapon of last resort, and only when much more than his own life was at stake. In the current case, his capture would yield EHO secrets that he had vowed to do everything in his power to protect. And the information they could get from Kelly Connolly could be even more of a game changer than what they could get from him.

Who was this woman? Was she an alien?

If she really had moved the Enigma Cube, this would make the most sense. But Boyd refused to believe it. Her every expression and reaction, down to her tears, were as human as he had ever seen.

Yet there was far more to her than met the eye, this much was obvious.

He sighed, knowing that this was a riddle he wouldn't be solving for a while.

Boyd monitored the progress of the tiny drones, which were now in position. A small red dot appeared at the top of each of the eight tiles, indicating that each drone had located its target, and was now hovering out of sight, awaiting Boyd's order to finish its task.

"Sage, have all HKs strike in ten seconds," he commanded. "I want a freeze-frame image from each of them a hundredth of a second before impact with their target," he added.

This was the only way to ensure that the targets were down without having a dragonfly drone available to confirm the kills. An image taken a hundredth of a second before impact would show the target just before death. A hundredth of a second after would show nothing, as the charge would not only kill the target, but the drone and its video equipment, as well.

"Striking now," reported Sage, and over a quarter-mile distant, each of the eight drones accelerated to over a hundred miles an hour and unerringly zeroed in on the foreheads of their respective targets. In his mind's eye, Boyd imagined each drone striking above the bridge of each target's nose and blowing their charges, obliterating eight heads, and splattering the grisly contents for many yards around them, like a watermelon dropped from a skyscraper.

Five of the tiles showed Boyd what he expected to see. Images of Chinese faces, likely having no idea that death was streaking toward them, one hundredth of a second away.

But three of the tiles were totally blank.

What?

He opened his mouth to query Sage, but she answered his question before he could ask. "It appears that five of the drones completed their mission," said the AI, "while three of the drones were taken out."

"Taken out how?" demanded Boyd. The Chinese commandos had downed dragonfly drones, sure, but these were slow and unable to take evasive action. Taking out a slaughterbot was like hitting a bullet with another bullet.

"Unknown," replied Sage.

Boyd cursed to himself. If he was going to sell his soul and use a despicable, illegal weapon, he should at least put an end to the conflict. But he had not. Three enhanced Chinese soldiers still lived, along with their commander.

Boyd knew he needed a new plan, and he needed it now. The four remaining hostiles would not be happy, and three of them would be running through thick trees and underbrush at speeds an Olympic sprinter would envy.

The major lifted Kelly effortlessly, with Sage boosting his strength by sending controlled currents through sections of his soft fabric endoskeleton. He draped her over his shoulders in a fireman's carry and began sprinting off through the woods, giving the men behind him more distance to close before they reached him.

As he ran, he considered multiple plans, but quickly discounted them all.

All except one.

It was simple, but his gut told him it would work. It would have to.

Because he was all out of options.


Kelly Connolly's consciousness swam slowly to the surface, and she felt as relaxed and content as she ever had.

Where was she?

Part of her didn't care. Part of her wanted to luxuriate in the comfort of being mostly asleep, numb, and of continuing to rest a mind and body that seemed more spent than she could remember.

A sharp bolt of electricity coursed through her system as her memory of recent events came flooding back. She had been with Justin Boyd, and they had been in trouble. Boyd had defeated twenty seasoned mercs with effortless efficiency, and had then been desperately trying to slow down a much more formidable force using an electromagnetic pulse.

But why didn't she remember anything from there? And where was she now?

Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment she wasn't sure of what she was seeing above her, or the nature of the surface below her.

And then it all became clear.

She was lying on her back across the back seat of the Lexus rental car that had driven them here, to the ninth circle of hell, against their will. In this case, a hell disguised as a magnificent autumn woods. She glanced up at the headrest and confirmed that she was right—it still had a chunk missing from where the gas canister had revealed its presence.

She gasped at the incongruity of it all and began to rise.

"Don't get up," cautioned Justin Boyd, his voice coming from the front of the car, where he was also lying across the seats. "We can't risk being seen."

"What... um, what... happened?" she said. She felt dazed, groggy. Maybe even a little high.

"You were drugged," he replied. "Hit by a tranquilizer dart fired from a drone. After you were out, I triggered the EMP, and I also managed to take out five of the Chinese commandos."

She blinked as her addled brain tried to do the math. "Which means that there are... three left, right?"

"Actually, four. Their commander is out there also. The voice from the hologram. In this case an actual commander, although not enhanced, by the name of Shen Ning."

Kelly could feel her mental acuity returning, but she still felt sluggish and slower than usual. "Why are we here?" she whispered slowly. "How... long?"

"We're safe," he assured her. "The drug will be completely out of your system any second, and you'll be back to normal. You've been out for about four hours, and we've both been right where we are now for all but a few minutes of that time. Sage and I tried to start the car, but no luck."

He paused. "Once you were knocked unconscious, my options became limited. I'm not sure I could have beaten these three enhanced commandos under the best of circumstances, but with you out cold, I wouldn't have had a chance."

"Unless you abandoned me."

"Which was never going to happen," replied Boyd emphatically. "So I ran off with you in one direction, and had Sage use a dragonfly drone to lead them in the opposite direction."

"How?"

"We had the drone fly ahead of them and broadcast faint sounds of me running through the woods with you draped across my shoulders. Snapping twigs, bent branches whipping back into position after I passed, that sort of thing. The actual sounds I was making, just closer to them, and coming from the wrong direction."

"Smart," said Kelly.

"Maybe," he allowed, "but only a temporary solution. They figured out they were being misled soon enough. I thought about running beyond the signal dead zone to call for reinforcements, but decided I'd never make it. Besides, I'm the highest value target China has ever had in their sights." He raised his eyebrows. "Well, other than you, apparently."

Boyd sighed. "So you can bet Commander Shen contacted his people to have them extend the signal dead zone," he continued. "And that every Chinese satellite in existence is monitoring motion within these woods and all exits, making sure we don't escape. With this vast expanse of woods to look for us in, they have a big needle-in-a-haystack problem. But you'd better believe they've at least made certain the needle is forced to stay within the haystack."

"Wait a minute," said Kelly, realizing that her normal mental acuity had fully returned. "Slow down, Justin. How would this Chinese commander... Shen... contact associates to make this happen? I get he has some special new frequency that we don't. But I thought you fried their electronics?"

"Very true," replied Boyd with a sigh. "But an outfit this good will make sure that at least one phone or comm is protected from electromagnetic radiation by a Faraday Cage, or some other means. And also other select equipment. My duffel bag, for example, is lined with a layer of aluminum, which can fend off an EMP attack, as long as the bag is zipped closed."

"So tin-foil hat people aren't so crazy after all?"

Boyd laughed. "No, they're still mostly crazy. But they are right about aluminum fending off electromagnetic radiation."

"So you figured you couldn't get reinforcements," said Kelly, "and you couldn't outrun them. So lying low was your best bet."

"Our only bet. It probably took them a while to get their satellites redeployed and programmed for us, but after that happened, we'd have been screwed. Their satellites won't miss us moving through the woods, even one this dense. They'll have algorithms that will be able to distinguish us from woodland creatures. They might not detect us the first hundred yards or so—might not—but the longer we're moving, the more sure it becomes.

"After Shen failed to detect us for a while, I'm sure he guessed that I'm hiding to make sure this doesn't happen. Hunkered down like a spider, setting up booby traps around me, waiting for them to venture close enough to strike."

"Why here?"

"There are endless places in the woods for me to hide us. So I'm counting on them not guessing I'd return to where this whole thing began. To the one spot for miles that has no cover."

"Other than the car we're in," said Kelly.

"Other than the car we're in," he repeated. "I have the two remaining dragonfly drones monitoring our immediate vicinity, just in case they think to look here. Nothing so far."

"Should we be talking like this?" she asked in low tones, suddenly apprehensive. "Won't they have comms that can amplify sound like yours can?"

"They can amplify away," said Boyd. "Lexus does a good job of soundproofing their cars. And transparent aluminum is even better at shielding noise than glass."

"Is there anything aluminum can't do?" asked Kelly wryly.

Boyd laughed. "Sage tells me that as long as we don't raise our voices, we can talk in here without danger of attracting any attention. It'll be pitch-dark outside in just about three hours," he added, "and then I'll have the advantage. I can go on offense, if necessary. Bottom line is that I should be able to get us out of here by morning, one way or another."

Kelly considered. "Why will you have the advantage?" she asked. Then, after a moment's thought, she answered her own question. "Because you have night vision and you think they don't?"

"That's right. Our intel suggests that their smart lenses don't have night-vision capabilities. If they brought goggles, these are likely fried. But I doubt they brought them. They expected us to arrive here unconscious and to mop us up before noon. Intel suggests they're engineered to be able to see better at night than the average human. But still not nearly as well as I'll be able to see."

"You are a lot more impressive than I'd ever have guessed," said Kelly earnestly. "You aren't just a badass because of your tech and enhancements. You're sharp as a razor. And you seem to have great judgment. Exceptional instincts. Not to mention being lightning quick on your feet, decisive."

"Thanks," said Boyd, almost shyly. He blew out a long breath. "I just hope your praise isn't premature. Once it's dark, we should be able to work our way free of this trap. Their satellite motion sensors should detect us, even at night, so at some point I'll need to engage the enemy. But I should have enough of an advantage to prevail. As soon as I can get a signal, I'll contact Colonel Osborne to send in reinforcements."

"How many?"

"I'm pretty sure all of them," said Boyd wryly.

Kelly smiled.

"Thirty to fifty men, to be on the safe side," said Boyd, serious once more. "We'll need exfiltration, and a team has to move in and mop up any remaining enhanced hostiles. And I wouldn't be surprised if they bring in a large number of their own reinforcements by morning."

Kelly was about to ask another question when the comm in her ear suddenly sprang to life. "Hello to my two American adversaries," said the same voice that had come from the hologram in the clearing, which Boyd had identified as belonging to Commander Shen Ning. "If I've timed this right, Dr. Connolly," continued the voice, "you should now have recovered from the tranquilizer dart we hit you with. I wanted to wait until you were awake so I could greet you both together."

"He's just trying to bait us to respond," said Boyd. "Fishing. He can't track us if we're just passively receiving."

"Don't all rush to respond at once," said Shen after waiting just over twenty seconds. "I'd prefer to have a two-way conversation, but at the risk of seeming rude, I'll just continue with a monologue. The EMP was a nice touch, Major, but much of our equipment is protected. As you've no doubt guessed by my ability to broadcast this message.

"I'm asking you to save all of us a lot of trouble and surrender now. You're clearly aware that you're pinned. That our satellites are scanning the area for motion. So you have no options, and time is running out. It'll get pretty cold out here soon, and the noose is tightening. I have massive reinforcements set to arrive before morning."

Kelly nodded to herself. Boyd's guess on the reinforcements had been spot on. When she had told him how much he had impressed her, she had meant it. And he was continuing to impress.

"In short," continued Shen, "you have no chance. You know I want to keep you both alive. But I promise to go much easier on you if you surrender voluntarily. And this promise is a very big deal," he added, his tone darkening considerably, "given how badly I want to cut you into little pieces for killing five of my comrades."

Shen paused again, as if wanting to give them a few seconds more to come to their senses and surrender.

"You're basically defenseless at this point," he continued finally. "As you Americans say, you failed to keep any powder dry. If you had any more HKs, you'd be using them," he added, "since it's clear you missed class the day they reviewed the slaughterbot treaty. Not that I'm in any position to file a complaint, since I'm here on American soil trying to capture American citizens. But let's just say that I'm not the only party here breaking international law, am I?"

"What is he talking about?" said Kelly.

Boyd ignored her as Shen continued trying to goad them to respond, surrender, or make a mistake for another five minutes. Finally, the Chinese commander gave up, with a promise that he would find them, wherever they were hiding, and that their capture was inevitable.

"So what did he mean by saying we were breaking international law?" asked Kelly yet again, once it was clear the Chinese commander had finished.

Boyd shook his head. "Look, Kelly, I made sure I filled you in on how we got here, and my plans for escape. But I haven't forgotten why Shen now seems to want you even more than me. So now that his little interruption is over, don't you think it's about time you answered my questions?"

Kelly cringed but remained silent.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Boyd. "So first question: did you—or did you not—take the Enigma Cube from the Uru facility?"

Kelly's breath caught in her throat. "I did," she said softly. "And I can't tell you how sorry I am."

Boyd shook his head in disbelief. "Incredible," he whispered. "I mean, when Shen made his accusation and I looked over at you, my gut told me he was right. But I can't tell you how hard I've been trying not to believe it."

"I'm sorry," said Kelly again. "But I had my reasons. At least I thought I did. I had a tough call to make, and I made it. And I'm willing to walk you through my thinking."

"Wait," said Boyd after he had digested what she had said. "Let's back up. Before we get to why you took the cube, why don't you begin with how. As someone once said, the cube is a fricking immovable object." He shook his head. "Are you even human?"

"All too human, I'm afraid," said Kelly with a sigh. "Look, I've come to like and respect you, Justin. A lot. And my instincts tell me you feel the same way about me. There seems to be strong chemistry between us, for reasons I can't explain. Is this just a normal consequence of two people being thrown into the trenches together?"

"Sometimes," said Boyd. "But I've sensed the same chemistry between us that you have. And I'm pretty sure we both felt it even before we were in the trenches." He frowned. "But that was also before I learned about your activities last night. Now all bets are off."

"I understand," said Kelly miserably. "But despite how it looks, we're on the same side. At least I hope we are. I'd never do anything to hurt you or my country. To hurt anyone. I don't even kill spiders. I know that not everyone will agree with my reasons for what I did. That you might not. But you should know that my intentions were good."

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions," said Boyd.

"So is the road to heaven," she countered. "Which road we might be on is in the eye of the beholder."

Kelly paused, and a wry smile came across her face. "I just hope that a little thing like me stealing a priceless alien artifact from the most secret, high-profile black ops facility in the world, which you'll soon be in charge of, doesn't, you know... hamper our relationship."

Boyd couldn't help but laugh at the playful audacity of her statement. "Well, yeah," he replied, "when you put it that way..."

The major paused and became deadly serious once again. "Look, Kelly, I can't tell you how much I'd rather be your friend than your adversary. But that all depends on how you were able to move an immovable object. And why you took it. And what in the hell is going on!" he finished emphatically.

"It's a bit of a long story," said Kelly.

"Good," he replied. "Turns out that I don't really have anywhere to be just now."


 "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." —Arthur C. Clarke

When Justin Boyd had first situated them in the car, he had felt ridiculous being sprawled out across the front seats of an unmoving car, while a woman he was surprisingly drawn to was sprawled out across the back seat. And the hours he had waited for her to regain consciousness hadn't helped.

Now that she was awake, he still felt ridiculous. But in addition, he also found it surreal to be having a calm discussion under these bizarre circumstances, especially since the discussion topic itself was considerably more surreal, more bizarre than the venue itself. And that was really saying something. Not only were they both on their backs in a car, like patients on a psychiatrist's couch, but the clearing they were in was still littered with the fresh remains of the ten men Boyd had slaughtered, which he had purposely failed to remind his companion of.

When he had picked up Dr. Kelly Connolly at the Philadelphia International Airport that morning, he couldn't have possibly imagined any scenario in which he would be where he was now, in the fight of his life, waiting for nightfall, in a dead car in the middle of a Pennsylvania woods.

And yet, even this would have been more believable than the idea that the woman he'd be with in the car had casually walked off with an object that all the resources available to the US military couldn't move.

"As eager as I am for you to begin," said Boyd, "there's a housekeeping item that we should take care of first."

"Housekeeping?"

"Yes. I've decided to trust you. I'm not sure why. But I'm going to let myself believe that you mean well. That we're still friends and allies. And who knows, maybe someday more than that."

Boyd sighed. "I do think we're going to get out of this," he continued. "But what you know is likely too important to chance it falling into Chinese hands. They may not think to check this car for days, or they may be seconds away. We can't risk keeping your secrets unprotected any longer."

"I'm not following you."

"I have a truth-serum blocking agent in my duffel bag. It's experimental, but it works. I propose using it on you right now, just in case we get caught before you finish your, ah... long story. It will protect your secrets from both truth serums and torture."

"Torture?" said Kelly in alarm.

"Again, I don't think we'll get captured. This is just a precaution."

"How would that work, anyway?" she said. "How can a chemical protect me from torture?"

He winced. "It can't. But it can prevent you from spilling your guts."

"I see. So while they're spilling my guts, literally, it prevents me from spilling my guts, figuratively."

Boyd cringed. "A graphic way to put it," he said. "But I suppose so. I have a small vial of the stuff. It's extremely potent, so I only need to use what fits into the very tip of a small syringe. Here's how it works. First, I'll inject you. After that, I need you to concentrate for all you're worth, for about ten minutes. I need you to think hard about all the secrets you wouldn't want the Chinese to have. In as much detail as possible, and really dwell on them."

"And that will protect this information from coming out?" she said skeptically.

"Exactly. If you're drugged or tortured, you'll be unable to disclose it."

"How could that possibly work?"

"I'm not entirely sure. It's very complicated. One component of the drug blocks truth serum. That's the easy part. The other component preferentially migrates to the memory traces that you re-trigger during your ten-minute walk down memory lane. It sets up a matrix that locks them up, but only if you're under duress. The gist is that your brain chemistry is different when you're being tortured, a loved one is being threatened—that sort of thing. So under duress, it isn't that you won't be willing to give up the information. It's more like you won't even remember it. It won't be there for you to access."

"Hard to imagine that this could really work."

"It does, believe me. Very well. It acts like a chemical version of a Chinese finger trap. The harder you try to pull out of it, the harder it grips you."

"So the more I try to remember, the less likely I'll be able to."

"Right. But if you aren't under duress, you'll be able to access all of your memories freely."

"That's quite the trick," said Kelly.

"It is. And it's pretty foolproof."

"And more than a little... disturbing."

"This is true," said Boyd. "But you should know that by doing this now, I'm taking a big chance with you."

Kelly pondered this statement for a moment and nodded. "Because if I lied about wanting to confide in you of my own free will," she said, "then you won't be able to get at this information, either."

"It is nice to be around someone I don't need to spell things out for."

"It's nice being around someone willing to trust me," said Kelly. "Especially when I've given you every reason not to." She paused. "Thanks, Justin. I won't betray your trust."

The major drew up a tiny amount of the drug into a small syringe and placed the vial back into a separate compartment in his duffel. Kelly thrust her arm through the narrow middle gap between rows and Boyd injected her. Ten minutes later, she reported that she had dredged up every last memory that should best be kept secret.

"What about you?" she said when this was done. "Are you going to inject yourself?"

"Already covered," replied Boyd. "Unfortunately, my technology and genes will tell quite a tale, even if I don't." He paused. "But now that we have that out of the way," he continued, "the moment of truth has finally arrived. You have the, ah... floor."

"Or at least the back row of the car, at any rate," said Kelly with a smile.

She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "Give me just a few more seconds," she said. "I'm trying to decide where to begin."

"How about at the beginning?" said Boyd wryly. "Or is that too cliché?"

"Okay, beginning it is. Any guesses as to when that might be?"

Boyd considered. "When you first joined Uru?"

"Good guess," she said. "But you had no chance of getting it right. Turns out the beginning is just a little bit earlier than that. In 1939, in fact."

Kelly blew out a long breath. "And in the center of Nazi Germany."


Boyd's eyes widened. Once again, he had thought he was prepared for anything. But he had been wrong.

"Nazi Germany?" he repeated stupidly. "Your story begins in Nazi Germany? Are you kidding me?"

"Yeah, because who doesn't kid about Nazi Germany?" she said wryly. "It was such a whimsical place."

Boyd sighed. "Okay," he said. "Go ahead. I'm listening. Intently."

"Were you aware that the Nazis were into mysticism and the occult?"

"I wasn't, no."

"Well, they were. In a big way. Have you ever seen the old Indiana Jones movies? You know, beginning with Raiders of the Lost Ark?"

"I have."

"If you remember, in the first one, the Nazis were pretty eager to get their hands on the Ark of the Covenant. And in the third one, on the Holy Grail. Well, this sort of interest wasn't just fictional. The Nazis were obsessed with stuff like that. And Christian-inspired supernatural objects were only the tip of the iceberg.

"In 2016, a collection of thirteen thousand occult and witchcraft books were rediscovered in the National Library of the Czech Republic. They had originally been just one part of a vast collection of occult books that belonged to Heinrich Himmler, the head of the Nazi SS. The Nazis plundered hundreds of libraries and archives across the world for material like this."

"Why?" said Boyd simply.

"A long story. One for another time. But they were also obsessed with what they called Wunderwaffen—German for Miracle Weapons. Usually referred to as superweapons in English. Several of these weapons programs were somewhat mainstream, simply ahead of their time. Like super battleships, super-tanks, and jet-powered aircraft. And all manner of advanced rockets."

"I'm aware of the Nazis' advanced rocketry programs, at least," said Boyd. "They were far ahead of the rest of the world. After the war ended, the United States secretly employed sixteen hundred German scientists and engineers, including Wernher von Braun and his V-2 rocket team, under a program that was code-named Operation Paperclip."

"I've heard about that," said Kelly. "Weren't a number of these scientists part of the Nazi Party, or even Party leaders?"

"They were. But our government looked the other way. To be honest, they felt they had no other choice. Operation Paperclip was in direct response to a similar operation conducted by Russia. The Soviets pressed even more German scientists into service than we did. So Germans ended up playing key scientific roles on both sides of the Cold War. And the Space Race. In fact, Von Braun was responsible for our Saturn V rocket. Without him, America would have never made it to the moon."

Boyd paused. "But getting back to Nazi Germany," he said, "you began listing a few superweapon programs that were on the mainstream side. I assume they had others that were... less so."

"A lot less so. Really, really far out. Hard to believe, even. They were working on the bomb, of course, but this was just the beginning. They had a program to develop something called a Sun Gun. A huge reflector in space, three and a half square miles in area, that they believed could focus the sun like a giant magnifying glass, boiling the ocean or burning a city."

"But they had no means of getting anything into space," pointed out Boyd.

"You can't say they didn't think big," replied Kelly. "Let me give you a few more examples. They worked on massive sonic emitters, to do what you had Sage do to those mercs in the clearing. They tried to build vast cannons on railroad tracks, four or five stories high, which would weigh over three million pounds, and which would fire twenty-thousand-pound shells the size of cars.

"But I saved the best for last," she added. "Toward the end of the war, the Nazis had a major effort underway to crack anti-gravity. Something I suspect our friends at Haycock Township are aware of."

"This had to be the earliest effort ever."

"It was," replied Kelly.

"But more about that later," she added with a sly smile. "First, let me circle back to the Nazis' occult obsession. In one of the thousands of books Himmler acquired, there was a tale about a magical cube. It was fabled to be in a certain area of Canada, deep in a forest, and its description couldn't have matched the Enigma Cube any closer."

"Fascinating," said Boyd.

"Oh no. The fascinating part is coming. Himmler sent a team to scour this area for the cube, and in a huge stroke of luck, his people actually found it. He called it the Atlantis Cube."

"Atlantis Cube?"

"Long story. But the name makes sense if you're familiar with crackpot Nazi theories. Anyway, Canada joined the war effort while the SS team was there. But even so, Himmler was so excited, he ventured behind enemy lines to see this find for himself. And after he left, he maintained a large team in the forest to study it. A team consisting of dozens of scientists, and dozens of SS soldiers."

"That's actually the first thing he did that makes sense," noted Boyd. "If you find an Enigma Cube, you do whatever you have to do to unlock its secrets, wherever it is. Well, at least to try to unlock its secrets. I'm sure they didn't get anywhere."

"I get why you say that. But much of today's fundamental quantum physics and general relativity was known at the time."

"Maybe so, but it wasn't nearly as developed as it is now. And neither was any other scientific discipline. Our people spent years without getting anywhere, and they had advanced technology the Nazis couldn't even dream of."

"Very true," said Kelly. "But the Canadian encampment had something we don't." She paused for effect. "They had Otto Richter."

Boyd tilted his head in confusion. "What's an Otto Richter?" he asked.

"The greatest mind humanity has ever produced. A mind the Nazis kept hidden from the world. An Aryan who soared above even the brilliant Jewish physicists of the time.

"In 1941, Richter was sixteen," continued Kelly, "and already producing work that was arguably more impressive than anyone else in the world. So Himmler pressed him into service to solve the cube, about eighteen months after the project had begun. If anyone could solve it, then or now, it would be Otto Richter."

"You make him sound like a god," said Boyd. "The Nazis must have done a phenomenal job of keeping him secret for no one to have ever heard of him."

"They did," she confirmed. "But to continue, Hitler and Himmler were aware that young Otto didn't subscribe to Nazi ideology. But they had no idea just how much he despised them. They had no idea of the sacrifices he was willing to make to hurt the Third Reich. Even so, they made sure the SS soldiers in Canada kept a sharp eye on him."

Boyd continued to hang on her every word.

"Fortunately," she continued, "young Otto knew he couldn't trust anyone, so he watched his steps very carefully. And luckily for him, after a little more than a year in the forest of Canada, he found an ally. The second-in-command of the SS contingent there. A major named Kurt Hahn."

Boyd's eyes narrowed. "How is it that I didn't know any of this?" he said suspiciously. "After I first met you and Harry last week, I reviewed the origins and history of the Uru group. It turns out that Colonel Osborne conducted a thorough records search when your facility was being constructed. He looked for any reference to anything that might vaguely resemble the Enigma Cube. And found nothing. It's understandable that he missed the obscure reference in Himmler's private occult collection. But if the Nazi program in Canada was known to history, his search would have found it."

"I don't doubt it. He didn't find it because it isn't known to history. I tried to find it, too, and struck out just as completely."

"Then how can you possibly know so much about it?"

Kelly sighed. "Because Otto Richter was my grandfather."


There was a long silence inside the car as Kelly let her companion digest what she had just said. Boyd was reeling yet again, something that had begun to happen with increasing frequency since he had first set eyes on the cube.

This took surreal to another level.

The car was quiet as a tomb. Outside in the clearing, an ever-growing number of insects and birds were feasting on the fresh bits of human flesh that Boyd had so kindly provided. Sage had positioned a display to his virtual right, one showing the feeds from the two remaining dragonfly drones, but he had chosen not to share this grisly scene with his companion.

"Until about sixteen months ago," said Kelly, picking up the narrative yet again, "I had no idea that an Otto Richter from Berlin even existed—let alone that he was my grandfather. All I knew was that my dad's dad had died before I was born. And I had been told that he had been a man named Jim Connolly, from Clear Lake, Iowa."

"So your family was lying to you?" said Boyd.

"No. Otto was lying to them. They still have no idea. In fact, not even my grandmother—his wife—had any idea who he really was. Or his history. No one in my family does even now, because I haven't told them."

"So what happened sixteen months ago?"

"My father passed away," said Kelly softly, and the pain in her voice was unmistakable.

"I'm so sorry."

"Thank you. He meant a lot to me. But after mourning for longer than I should have, I've moved on. Still hurts when I think about it, but he'd want me to get over it and be as happy as possible. He had a big influence on my life."

"I don't doubt it," said Boyd. "I should have guessed that he'd be a world-class physicist also."

"Are you cheating again, Justin?" she said. "You do know it's rude to use your personal AI and smart contacts to learn about someone you're talking to."

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "Force of habit."

"I know Sage is cut off from the internet, so I'm impressed that her onboard database is comprehensive enough to have my father in it."

"She does come fully loaded," said Boyd with a smile. "As I said earlier, the entirety of Wikipedia is just a tiny fraction of the whole." He paused. "But please continue. And I'll try to control my database searching."

Kelly nodded. "My father was seventy when he passed away from a heart attack," she said. "Information I suspect Sage has already displayed for you. Anyway, this was tragic, but not entirely surprising. My dad had undergone open heart surgery twelve years earlier, and we knew this was an issue for him.

"Anyway, after the funeral my sister and I stayed with our mom, who is ten years younger than my dad, for several weeks. We were there to console her, and to help her sort out what to do with the house, financial issues, that sort of thing. Our family has always been well off, so she was in good shape, but she still needed company and guidance.

"My grandfather, Jim Connolly," she continued, "really Otto Richter, had been an inventor of some acclaim. No one in the family knew, including me at the time, that he was capable of so much more. That he was arguably the most brilliant man who ever lived. His inventions had been fairly small-time. Nothing too showy. But they had netted him about fifteen million dollars. A sizable amount, but again, not so sizable that he stood out. Which was true of everything he did. He had a gift for languages, spoke English like a native, so he chose to pass himself off as farm boy from Iowa. After living and working in Hitler's malignant Nazi regime, and so soon after the end of the war, it isn't hard to understand why he didn't want to share his past. Or even admit to being German."

"Is that why he chose to go by the name of Connolly?" asked Boyd.

"Absolutely. Nothing says German like the name Otto Richter. He purposely chose a name that everyone would recognize as being of Irish origin. Connolly comes from an Old Gaelic name meaning 'fierce as a hound.'"

"Seems to fit you fairly well," said Boyd in amusement. "I mean the fierce part, of course," he added quickly. "Not the hound part."

Kelly smiled. "Thanks for the clarification," she said. "In any event, my grandfather's earnings from his inventions allowed all of us 'Connollys' to live fairly comfortably down through the generations. He was quite a generous man."

"So when, and how, did you find out about him?"

"While I was staying with my mom in the weeks after my dad's funeral. She had used her entire attic as a storehouse. So I was going through it all, trying to help her organize, and I came across dozens of boxes of old books, which had belonged to my grandfather Jim. I decided to look through them, to determine if any were valuable, should be kept as heirlooms, or should be finally tossed away.

"I was astonished by their titles," she continued. "Heavy duty physics and mathematics texts that even world-class physicists would struggle with. I knew my grandfather was smart, and an inventor, but had no idea he was interested in physics. Not just interested, but obviously quite accomplished. My father must not have ever opened these boxes after his mother passed away, because he would have told me about this."

"Right," said Boyd, "because you and your dad were both physicists. And it would have meant a lot to both of you to discover how much this interest had run in the family."

"Exactly. I opened up a number of the boxes, fascinated. Finally, I came upon an entire volume devoted to zero-point energy, which has always been an interest of mine. I knew that it had first been theorized more than a century earlier, and that Casimir had demonstrated the effect in the forties or fifties. But this field had been largely ignored, until recently. So I was surprised to find an entire book on the subject that was so old."

She paused. "So I opened it. And I found that it wasn't an entire volume on the subject after all."

"I don't understand," said Boyd.

"The book was hollow. Inside was an old, leather-bound journal. My grandfather's journal. More to the point, Otto Richter's journal. A journal he had kept up with until just before his death."

"I see," said Boyd slowly. "So that's how you learned about the Nazi program in Canada."

"And a whole lot more. He wasn't able to begin keeping a journal until he was finally out of the Nazis' clutches, but he had a very good memory. And he wrote it in English. I made a digital scan of it so I could keep electronic versions on my phone and in the cloud. Which means that Sage now has a copy too, since you had her suck in the contents of my phone."

Boyd nodded slowly. This was another unexpected turn. "I won't read a word of it unless I have your permission," he said.

"I appreciate that. But given where things stand, I'll probably end up encouraging you to read it. But for now, let me just tell you the basics. My grandfather wrote of his upbringing in Berlin, and the astonishing things he was able to accomplish, even before he was ten. He was a prodigy's prodigy. He wrote about being pressed into service to solve the cube when he was sixteen, and of meeting Heinrich Himmler himself."

Boyd let out a soft whistle. "Now that must have been an interesting passage," he said.

"I certainly thought so," she replied. "He then wrote about his time in Canada and his work on the project. How miserable he was. Living and working in harsh, primitive conditions, with even harsher, more primitive human beings. Still, he was able to do extraordinary work. Revolutionary. His journal had much more to say about this time in his life, but skipping ahead, his work culminated in the creation of a dark energy generator."

"A dark energy generator?" said Boyd skeptically. "Are you sure about that?"

"Positive."

"That would be absolutely incredible," said the black ops major. "Our people have only now pulled this off. More than eighty years later."

"Not to rub it in," said Kelly, "but his was more powerful. Still weak, but more powerful than the one the Haycock group developed."

"But I thought dark energy and dark matter were only hypothesized very recently."

"They were. My grandfather—Otto—didn't call it dark energy, of course. And he didn't have the cosmological evidence that caused physicists to posit it in the first place. But, like Leonardo Da Vinci, he was generations ahead of his time. His generator was about the size and shape of your EMP gun. Very rudimentary, but absolutely amazing. It incorporated breathtaking ideas that not even modern science has rediscovered.

"When I found his journal, there was a key taped to the back of it. The key was to a safe deposit box in one of the oldest banks in Manhattan. He had paid for the box in advance for a hundred years. Inside the box, I found his generator, safe and sound. I was able to improve it using modern technology, and I built a more powerful, more reliable version of my own."

"So why haven't you introduced it to the world?" asked Boyd.

"I'll get to that soon. But let me get back to Canada and back up a little. Before my grandfather perfected the dark energy generator, he obtained permission to sleep, alone, in the same room as the cube, so he could perform secret experiments at night. His SS ally, Major Kurt Hahn, helped him with this by sleeping just outside the room. Whenever Otto was conducting experiments, Hahn would only pretend to be asleep, and would make sure my grandfather wasn't discovered.

"As I'm sure you can appreciate from Uru's track record," she continued, "none of his experiments had any effect on the cube at all. But this changed dramatically when Otto hit the cube with his newly developed dark energy generator. It was the key that finally unlocked the thing.

"The moment he trained the generator on the cube, the blinding beams of light streaking from the cube's corners, which had seemed eternal, vanished." She snapped her fingers. "Just like that. And whereas it had been a cage before, with ever-changing spinning and not-spinning geometric figures inside, all six faces of the cube suddenly filled in, turning the cube solid. With a glossy finish that looked like white marble."

"How in the world did it do that?"

"How does it do anything it does?"

"Good point."

"After Otto got over his absolute shock," continued Kelly, "he began to experiment—frantically. He still couldn't move the cube, and if he couldn't get it back to its original configuration by morning, the Nazis would discover he had found a way to affect it.

"Whether due to genius-level intuition or just plain luck, he discovered a second required key. If he pressed his fingers on all four vertices at the top of the cube, and held them there for several seconds, the cube transformed again. This time, it maintained its solid form, but fifteen hieroglyphs suddenly materialized on all six of its faces, glowing red, as if they were on fire. But despite their appearance, they were cool to the touch.

"Three of the cube's faces contained a single hieroglyph, and the other three faces had four, evenly spaced. The glyphs that had cube faces all to themselves were the most prominent and stood out the most, of course. Later, Otto found that if he didn't touch any control for exactly three minutes and twenty-three seconds, or if he pressed and held all four top corners again, all the glyphs would disappear, leaving a solid, barren cube."

She paused for an extended period to let Boyd digest this revelation and get a picture of what she was describing in his mind's eye.

"The glyph on the top face," she continued, "was clearly a depiction of the Enigma Cube itself, and showed forces acting on it. It had one notch above it, and one below, that could well have been the alien version of arrows. Otto learned that if he pressed on the notch below this glyph, the cube would suddenly shed its enormous weight and become light as a feather.

"If he then pressed the one above it, the cube would gain weight, at an ever-accelerating rate. If he pressed this notch and held his finger down for a few seconds, the cube would jump immediately to its original weight and form. It would once again be an immovable cubic cage, with blinding lights streaming from each vertex."

"So probably not a good idea to be holding it when you make that happen," noted Boyd, as he imagined clutching an object that jumped instantly from feather weight to the weight of a skyscraper in one fell swoop.

"Not a good idea at all," agreed Kelly with a smile. "A good way to lose a hand. Fortunately, Otto had thought of that, and always left it where it was originally sitting."

"But the bottom line is that he solved it," said Boyd in wonder. "He discovered that the cube, itself, is an anti-gravity device."

Kelly shook her head. "It isn't just an anti-gravity device," she said. "It's much more impressive than that. It doesn't just reduce gravity. It controls it. Absolutely. Increases as well as decreases. Which means that its weight doesn't come from neutron star matter after all. It comes from an ability to mold spacetime like so much clay. The implications go far beyond simple anti-gravity, but I'll save these for later."

"Understood," said Boyd. "Go on."

"The other two stand-alone glyphs were on side faces. One showed a depiction of the cube, just like the glyph on top. But this time, instead of showing what seemed to be forces acting on the cube, it showed forces emanating from the cube and acting on another object. This one had eight distinct notches arrayed around it, which served as control notches."

Kelly paused. "He didn't explore this glyph the first night," she continued. "But he did extensively over the next month with Hahn acting as guard. As Otto had guessed, this one could control the gravity being experienced by other objects. He experimented on rocks that he could sneak in and out of the room so as not to leave evidence of his experimentation.

"The implications soon became abundantly clear. If he were to point the vertex of the cube nearest this glyph at a tank, for example, he could make its gravity increase so much that it would implode like a crushed aluminum can. He could point the cube at advancing soldiers and crush them into paste. And so on."

Boyd's eyes widened. "Which would make the cube every bit the superweapon Hitler hoped for," he said.

"That's right. But Otto was smart, and cautious. He only experimented with these two glyphs, which had seemed to have more obvious functions, not any of the other thirteen. But because of these numerous others, it seemed clear to him that he was only tapping the tip of the iceberg of what the cube could do."

She paused. "And I can tell you, based on theoretical work that has been developed since the 1940s, the possibilities are even more staggering than Otto Richter imagined."

"What about the third glyph that was all by itself?" asked Boyd. "Seems like an obvious one for him to try."

Kelly frowned. "It was a large red dot in the center of its cube face. The dot was surrounded by what looked to Otto to be the glyph equivalent of a cloud. And there were no control notches of any kind. He didn't think this cloud was suggestive of explosive debris—necessarily—but he definitely didn't want to take that chance."

Boyd nodded, totally engrossed. "Go on," he said again.

"His goal was to destroy the cube. But he couldn't find a way. It was just as invulnerable in its active, solid-cube state, as it was in its original state. He thought maybe one of the other controls might have done the job, but he refused to access any of them. The longer he experimented, the more determined he was not to press his luck. He had stuck with the most prominent, obvious controls and had survived. But if he tripped the wrong one, he was convinced the cube could melt down the entire area. Maybe even the entire planet."

"Yeah, I get why he might think that," said Boyd, glad that he had seen the cube for himself. If he hadn't, he would have thought the idea that it might be capable of destroying the Earth ridiculous. But after seeing it for only a few minutes, it was easy for him to believe the cube's destructive power was limitless.

"Since he couldn't destroy it," continued Kelly, "he decided he had no choice but to steal it out from under the Nazis' noses. He discussed this with Hahn, whom he had grown to trust. He couldn't let Hitler have it. So he would activate it, use it to wipe out everyone in the camp, except for his ally, and take it where the Nazis would never find it. He would create a crater, an earthquake, that Himmler would think had killed everyone not on patrol at the time. Himmler would believe the cube had blown up, and that would be the end of it. Hitler would be denied his alien superweapon."

Boyd was mesmerized. "So this Otto," he said, "your grandfather, must have succeeded. If not, he wouldn't have lived to write his journal."

"He did succeed. He just wasn't quite sure how. Because one day he found himself in the woods of Spokane, Washington, holding the cube—and he had no idea how he had gotten there."

Boyd's mouth dropped open. "Spokane, Washington," he repeated in dismay. "I'll be damned," he whispered. "How did I not see this coming? So the Nazi cube you were talking about isn't just like the cube we've been studying. It is the cube we've been studying."

"Yes it is," said Kelly simply. "And no worse for wear," she added with a smile.