CHAPTER # 1
# 1 > Rupert Schmitz came out of the London underground and looked both ways. To his right, diagonally across the road, was the small street that led to the target. Naturally, he turned left. It wasn't so much that he was worried he was being followed__he'd been careful and, if they'd had any idea of his existence, he was sure they'd have picked him up already. It was more that, even if the Helix device worked as expected, he wanted to put it somewhere surreptitious. After all, if you've got an edge__flaunting it simply causes your enemies to adapt and grow stronger. Better in his mind that the British put the next few weeks down to simple bad luck. They'd become aware of the gravity of their deficit soon enough.
# 2 The package under his arm shifted uncomfortably against his suit as he walked. It was weightier than it looked and, although he was no weakling, an hour of carrying it carefully was beginning to take its toll on his muscles. It was amazing what science could accomplish these days. "Miniaturization," he muttered to himself. "it is certainly the future." scarcely a decade ago, had the technology he carried in this container even been possible, it might have filled a decent-sized room. Now, everything was different. All those components, clicking and working away in unison, slotted neatly into a parcel little bigger than a shoe box. National Socialism had brought amazing advances to the world. A woman bumped into his shoulder, almost sending him into a spin. Her first thought was to apologies. His was to immediately bring the box in to his chest to protect it.
# 3 Stable, it had to be kept stable. "Here!" she called. "What kind of a man are you that you don't apologise?" He pulled the brim of his hat down lower and continued on his way, ignoring her. A man with the woman: "Oi! You need to watch where you're going." Schmitz walked faster. He didn't have time to engage in witless banter with the natives of London. He had a place to be. He had procedures to follow. And time was ticking. He weaved through the gap between a nanny, out with a baby in a pram, and a kid playing hooky from school. He crossed the street and disappeared down another side road Schmitz knew little of mechanics or engineering. Before the war, he had been a history lecturer. When the hostilities began, he had discovered a new talent__and with it, a new career. He became a spy for Nazi Germany. The Fatherland had been ridiculously inept in placing quality men behind enemy lines. Some turned themselves in. Others swapped sides. One idiot was even captured shortly after arrival by parachute because he walked into a country pub and ordered a beer.
4. When he opened his wallet, the landlord could see that he had a ludicrous amount of cash inside__far more than anyone in England would carry for legitimate purposes. The police were called immediately. Schmitz had several advantages over these men. Although his father had been German, his mother was English. Naturally, he had been brought up speaking both languages. But, for his current profession, there was something about the way he spoke that was far more important than being fluent and accent free: he used English colloquially. In addition, his background in history meant that he had plenty to talk about that could act as common touchstones with the local people; he knew the shibboleths that so regularly tripped his colleagues.
5. - For all the power of German education, it could never fully cover those basics that being from Albion, every local took for granted: who won the Battle of Hasting? When was it? Which King George had been mad? Why is the Battle of Agincourt so deeply ingrained in the national psyche...? "A pathetic skirmish of no interest near the end of a long, grinding, attritional war that lasted 136 years," he mumbled. The English had a patchwork history, from which they chose to emphasize only the best parts. Never mind that the Hundred Years War was a de facto defeat for the country__ask any Englishman to name two of its battles and Agincourt & Crecy would immediately issue forth. He shook his head. His knowledge helped him to blend in. It didn't hurt that he'd picked up his degree from a London university too. That gave him the ability to casually mention place names, streets, night spots and even join in discussions about the best place to get breakfast on a Sunday morning. Moving through a set of gates, Schmitz entered a small garden square. The September sun was dropping low in the sky. Soon it would be dusk__and with it would come a bombing raid the likes of which London had never seen before.
6. - It was not simply that the attack would be any more or less devastating than those of the Blitz__regrettably, the war had been going poorly for the Fatherland since the middle of the year. Its deadline lay in another field: proof of concept. And for that, a very particular target had been chosen. A few more twists and turns and he had reached his destination. The Cabinet War Rooms. Schmitz smiled as he glanced across the street at its entrance. Policemen and guards strolled up and down. Sandbags were piled high around the outer walls, protecting it from a mortar attack. But the roof__now that was a weak spot. If you could get a large enough explosive onto it you could kill everyone inside. Oh, how they'd debated attacking this one godforsaken bastion__thorn in Germany's side__for five years. But now, finally, they had a means to destroy it for good. The key was precision targeting.
No one had the technology for that.
No one, until now.
Schmitz estimated the distance from his current position to the wall on his right. It was behind a stone balustrade and then a gap to allow light for the basement windows. He took it in with the merest glimpse so as not to betray his intensions. Around 2 metres. This will, obviously, did not belong to the War Rooms themselves__but that didn't matter. It was flush in line with the front entrance of Churchhill's war-time base, which lay further on down the road.
7. Schmitz mentally factored in an additional three meters, so that the explosion would occur far enough into the flimsy corrugated iron of the entrance's roof. He turned to face away from the wall and began walking once more. He silently counted off steps. He'd previously measured his average pace at approximately 70 centimetres. A small amount of mathematics and all he had to do was take 64 strides: then, he would be exactly 50 meters from the target. He marched the distance, trying to look as unsuspicious as possible. He was now far enough from the War Rooms that he could move more or less freely without arousing the attentions of the guards on its door. Careful to keep his distance from the entrance the same, he found a bench and sat down. His biceps ached with relief as he last rested the Helix device on his lap. The box, sturdily built and made of walnut, sighed as he slid open the lid. A smirk tickled at his lips. Fool proof.
8. All that could be seen once the Helix was open was a tiny light bulb, a switch and a dial. The mechanism was sealed away beneath the wood these were embedded in. He lifted a compass from his pocket, remembering the instruction from his briefing, one week ago. "Find north and align the deal in its starting position," he thought, swivelling the box slightly on his lap. "Then turn the deal to point in the direction of the target. Wait until the allotted time, flip the switch and walk away." He twisted the knob to point at the War Rooms. so, so simple.
A quick check of his watch, synchronized with one in Luftwaffe headquarters in Berlin, and with a definitive click, he flicked the switch. The light blinked alive. He slipped the lid back into place and placed the box under the bench, careful to keep the orientation steady. The compass needle in his hand began to spin wildly in circles. Good. The device was transmitting.
{ 9 }. - He dropped the compass back into his pocket, stood and began to stride along the path away from the target. "Excuse me, mister." The voice of a boy from behind him. Schmitz quickened his pace. "Don't engage," he thought, "Don't engage." "Hey!" the boy shouted louder. "Mister! You've left something!" A policeman, across to the right, began paying attention to the child. Schmitz turned around. The schoolboy, the one playing hooky from his lessons that he'd seen earlier, was fishing away under the bench, yanking out the box. Schmitz was now fifteen metres aways as the child picked up the Helix device and began to run after him. "No, no, no," Schmitz said. "Please put that back!" The Helix was already triggered. It had to be left in place. The policeman began strolling across from his beat, a steady route around the square. "Mister, you forgot your box," the boy said, jogging towards Schmitz ran to close the gap.
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