Two in One, Part 1
Arcadia Cafe and Bar, Downtown Konstanstadt - June 26, 2011, 6:00 PM
Erich didn’t touch his steak or tea much. He wasn’t that hungry at the moment. He was more focused on the old man sitting across from him. Schulz eagerly dug into his gyro, washing it down with some ice water.
“So, tell me again,” Schulz said, “I’m your boss on your side?”
“You were,” Erich said.
“What did I do?” Schulz said. “What was my job?”
“Mostly paperwork,” Erich said.
“Seriously?” Schulz said. “It’s the Athanatoi. I would’ve thought I’d be doing cool spy stuff, like your daughter said.”
“Angie tends to exaggerate what she does in her career,” Erich said, “And the Athanatoi isn’t the same as the terrorists you know here.”
“Of course,” Schulz said.
“Where did things change?” Erich said.
“What did you mean?” Schulz said.
“Why are you a taxi driver?” Erich said. “The other you was a bureaucrat, a high-ranking one. And I’m, well, still alive. Why did the other me die?”
“Did you fight in Lindi?” Schulz said.
“What’s a Lindi?” Erich said.
“A place in Africa where we fought a long war against communism which we shouldn’t have fought in the first place,” Schulz said.
“We had a war like that,” Erich said, “It was fought in Siam.”
“My brother protested the war,” Schulz said, “He burned his draft card. But me, you, and Mark, we signed up, enlisted right out of high school.”
“On our side, you protested the war,” Erich said, “Your brother was my commanding officer.”
“So we doing regular patrols on the Niger River,” Schulz said.
“We were ordered to take this old Buddhist temple up the Chao Praya River,” Erich said, “The enemy was encamped there with a large weapons cache we were supposed to destroy.”
“The Malians ambushed our boat,” Schulz said, “They were everywhere.”
“Karl ambushed our helicopters,” Erich said, “We couldn’t see them, but they could see us. They knew we were coming.”
“They hit the engine,” Schulz said, “We were dead in the water.”
“They shot us out of the sky,” Erich said, “Your brother died instantly.”
“Mark was shot in the leg,” Schulz said, “Your gun jammed.”
“I was disoriented by the crash,” Erich said, “Mark was shot right in front of me. The boy who killed him was probably just ten or something. I had to shoot him.”
“You jumped off the boat and repaired the engine,” Schulz said, “You were shot several times.”
“Director Frank saved us,” Erich said, “Led us to safety.”
“You saved us,” Schulz said, “You got our boat out of there. But you bled out.”
Erich leaned back in his chair, processing what Schulz had just said.
“Where was I buried?” Erich asked.
“The Imperial War Heroes Cemetery in Vienna,” Schulz said, “Full honors. And me?”
“Next to your brother,” Erich said, “Mitte National Cemetery in Berlin. Full honors.”
“Looks like we have a lot in common,” Schulz said, “We ended up the same, did we?”
“Only you’re a taxi driver and I’m not,” Erich said.
“There aren’t many opportunities for veterans today,” Schulz said, “Our pensions barely cover our expenses. My job barely supports me and my brother.”
“What about Mark?” Erich said.
“Mark?” Schulz said. “He’s doing fine. Lives in his son’s home a few blocks down from me.”
“Can I visit him?” Erich said. “And your brother?”
“Doesn’t this, like, break a lot of rules?” Schulz said. “I can’t imagine how hard it was getting this conversation approved.”
“I’ll figure something out,” Erich said, “Just see if they can talk.”
Schulz thought for a moment.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
Rural Westphalia, the Reich
A truck driver piloted his big rig through the evening on an unlit, undivided two-lane highway. Alert and singing along with the music on the CD he selected, the electronics in the vehicle suddenly went haywire and shorted out. All complex systems in the tractor ceased to function, and he coasted to a stop. In front of the big rig, a handful of passenger vehicles seemed to have suffered the same fate. As he hopped out of the cab, loose metal objects inside levitated briefly and then fell to the ground. Confused, he approached the other stranded motorists, all trying to figure out what was going on.
“Yeah, I can’t explain it…”
“Another one here, just stopped working…”
“Oh yeah, just the lights went out, and then…just stopped…”
“Hey, check it out! Do you see that?”
“What is that? Over there.”
“We got another…”
“What the hell?” the truck driver said.
A commercial jetliner passed overhead, dangerously low, and then slammed into the forest several miles away, the fireball climbing into the night sky. Everybody gasped. Then their engines restarted and lights came back on.
9:00 PM
The team got out of their vehicles and approached Kurtz and his agents on the rural highway. Diana got out her phone.
“I’ll get Walter online,” she said.
“Welcome to Westphalia,” Kurtz said.
“Thanks,” Angela said, “What brings us here?”
“Romanwings Flight 591 was passing overhead when a disturbance occurred mid-flight,” Kurtz said, “It appears their electrical and hydraulic systems failed.”
Diana put down her phone. “I can't seem to reach him.”
“Any survivors?” Anders asked.
“None,” Kurtz said, “ITSB is currently working the crash site about two miles south of here.”
Diana made another call. “Walter?”
“But we think whatever caused the crash originated in this location,” Kurtz said.
“On what basis?” Diana said.
“Approximately three hours ago, every vehicle on this specific stretch of highway inexplicably lost power for several minutes,” Kurtz said.
“Well, it could just be radio interference,” Angela said, “Are there any high-frequency radio towers around?”
“None,” Kurtz said, “That wouldn't explain some of the stranger events described by witnesses. Objects suspended in midair…"
“Walter, are you getting this?” Diana said. “Can you hear me? Walter…"
Walter appeared from behind her. “For God's sake, lower your decibels!”
Everybody stared at Walter.
“You're here, in person,” Diana said.
“I thought it was a nice day for a drive,” Walter said, “Well, let's get started, shall we?”
Anna and Olga appeared from their car and walked over to them.
“Well done convincing him to leave the lab,” Angela said.
“Don't look at me,” Anna said, “This was her idea.”
“No, it was his,” Olga said.
“He finally got over the board vote, did he?” Anders said.
“Appears so,” Anna said.
Walter pulled a hubcap off a car.
“Look at this,” he said.
“Walter, what are you doing?” Anders said. “This car belongs to someone.”
“Just watch.” Walter threw the hubcap at another car, and it stuck to the side.
“It's magnetized,” Angela said.
“As I suspected,” Walter said, “I didn't think those levitating effects the witnesses described were the result of a change in gravity. On the contrary, it seems for a brief moment, the electromagnetic force in this area was increased dramatically.”
“Which is why all of the cars' electrical systems failed... and probably the plane's as well,” Anders said.
“And it was strong enough to leave a residual magnetic force in all metal objects in the vicinity,” Walter said, pulling on the stuck hubcap in vain.
“Do you have any idea what caused it?” Kurtz said.
“No,” Walter said, “Not yet. I'll need to take some samples before I can develop a proper theory. Um, but I will require some of the plane's wreckage and the black box.”
“Go ahead and collect whatever evidence you need here,” Kurtz said, “Agent Frank and I will coordinate with ITSB to take custody of the wreckage and the bodies.”
“I’ll see you soon,” Diana said.
She and Kurtz walked away.
“While they're collecting the samples, just down the road, I saw a sign for a place that serves delicious homemade rhubarb pie,” Walter said, “Who's hungry?”
Westenfeld - 9:30 PM
Angela drove past the “Welcome to Westenfeld” sign and into the dark and sleepy town. As advertised several miles up the road, the pie shop was open for business. It appeared to be the only one in town.
“‘The Best in Westenfeld’,” Walter read, “You see?”
Anders checked her phone. “Frak.”
“What's up?” Anna said.
“I can’t get a signal,” Anders said, looking at a payphone, “I’ll try that payphone, see if I can get an update from Di. We may have to get the rhubarb to go.”
“Alright,” Anna said, “We'll meet you in there.”
“Sure,” Anders said.
He headed to the payphone.
“You guys want anything?” Anna asked.
“I’m good,” Angela said, “I’ll wait here.”
“I’m not hungry,” Olga said.
“Suits you,” Anna said.
She and Walter entered the shop. The owner, a large man with a modest beard, smiled when he noticed them.
“Come on in out of the heat,” he said, “Have a seat at the counter. What can I get for you?”
Walter and Anna sat at the counter.
“Your largest slice of rhubarb pie and coffee, please,” Walter said.
“Alright,” the owner said, "And for you, ma’am?”
“Just the bathroom,” Anna said.
The owner pointed down the hall. “Uh, it's in the back there, first door on your right.”
“Thanks,” Anna said, heading down the hall.
“So where you folks from?” the owner said, pouring a cup of coffee.
“Strasburg,” Walter said.
“Ah, it's a lovely city,” the owner said, “Got an uncle out there. Your first time in Westphalia?”
“Are we in Westphalia?” Walter said. "I had no idea."
“What, you folks lost?” the owner said.
“Not that I'm aware of,” Walter said.
“Well, how does a man drive from Strasburg to Westphalia and not even know he's there?” the owner said.
“Oh, I'm not allowed to drive,” Walter said, “I haven't renewed my license since I got out of the mental institution. My daughter drives.”
The owner looked at him, waiting for a punch line. Then he realized there was none coming and laughed anyways.
“You know what?” he said. “I like you. Pie's on the house.”
“Oh, thank you,” Walter said.
Outside, Anders found his way to the payphone. He tried the phone, but it was inoperative. Angela noticed one of the cars on the curb was open and unattended. Olga checked her watch. Back inside, Anna left the bathroom and headed back up the hall to the counter, but she stopped when she heard a groan coming from the pantry. At the counter, the owner clutched his head, as if in slight discomfort.
“Hey, looks like we got you some coffee,” he said, “How’s your evening going?”
“Excellent,” Walter said, "And yours?”
“Just fine,” the owner said, “So what can I get for you?”
“Pardon?” Walter said.
“What do you want to order?” the owner said.
“But... but I ordered a moment ago,” Walter said.
“This is my busiest shift,” the owner said, “Do you want to order or not?”
“But I did,” Walter said, “I ordered rhubarb pie. And you even said it was on the house.”
The owner glared at him. “Are you trying to steal food?”
“No, of course not,” Walter said.
“Nobody steals from me,” the owner said, “Not you, not Georg, nobody. You hear me, old man?”
“I hear you,” Walter said, "I hear you perfectly well.”
“Oh,” the owner said, suddenly upbeat instead of enraged, “Still got to get you that pie. Must've forgot. I'm sorry about that.”
Anna opened the door to the pantry and found a dead woman hung from the ceiling. Lying on the floor was a badly injured man bleeding from his arm.
“Please…” he gasped.
At the counter, the owner handed Walter a slice of rhubarb pie.
“And there you go,” he said, “Anything else I can get for you?”
“No,” Walter said, “Thank you very much.”
“You're very welcome,” the owner said, “Wait a minute.”
He grabbed a knife and lunged at Walter, but Olga shot him in the head. He fell to the floor. Anna, Anders, and Angela rushed to the counter and surrounded Walter.
“I'm okay!” Anna said.
“What happened?” Anders said.
“I don't know, but there's a guy in the back room,” Anna said, “I think the cook attacked him. He's pretty beat up.”
Walter looked at the dead owner. He reached down and checked his intact right eye, finding it had two irises. Angela rushed to the pantry and checked the injured man.
“Pulse pressure's weak,” she said, “Probably as a result of the puncture in the arm. An inch more to the right, it would've hit his brachial artery.”
Anders looked up from behind the counter. “I just found another body behind the counter.”
“What are we thinking, serial killer?” Olga said.
“I don't know,” Anders said, “I mean, I think there's something off about this entire town.”
“Meaning what?” Anna said.
“The whole place is deserted,” Anders said, “I can't get a cell signal. The phone lines are down.”
“Do I take that to mean we can't call for an ambulance?” Angela said.
“What, you can't treat him here?” Anna said.
“Well, he's lost too much blood,” Angela said, “Unless he is administered fluid, resuscitation, and a blood transfusion immediately, he may not make it.”
“Well, the nearest hospital is twenty miles away,” Anders said.
Angela wrapped a rag around the man’s arm.
“Then let’s move,” she said, “Grab his feet.”
Anders, Anna, and Olga helped Angela carry the man out of the pantry and to their car, while Walter quickly finished his rhubarb pie and ran after them.
9:45 PM
Anna drove as fast as she could down the road. The “Leaving Westenfeld” sign passed them and disappeared into the fog. In the back, Angela attended to the man’s wounds. He groaned and opened his eyes.
“Where am I?” he said.
“You've sustained some injuries,” Angela said, “We're going to get you to a hospital.”
“No,” the man said, “No, we can't leave. We, we can't leave.”
“You're going to be alright,” Angela said, “Stay with us. What's your name?”
“Georg Hermann,” the man said.
They passed the “Welcome to Westenfeld” sign and headed into town.
“Wait, what?” Anna said. “Did you see that?”
“Yeah, you must've gotten turned around someplace,” Anders said, “You just got to stay on the main road. It takes you right back to the highway.”
“I thought I did,” Anna said.
They turned around and drove back the way they came, but they passed the sign again.
“What the hell is going on here?” Anna said.
“That's not possible,” Olga said.
“We can't leave,” Georg said, “We can't leave. We can't leave.”
“I think our friend's right,” Walter said, "We're trapped here.”