The Man Who Stole History — Terry Mixon

Orphaned by the Temporal Corp's indifference, Cahill turned to a life of crime. Using the secret files of his father -- an investigative historian -- he convinced a powerful criminal to steal a treasure lost to history.



When he got there, things were not as they seemed. He had the chance to right a terrible wrong. Was he willing to risk his own past to commit the grandest larceny in history?



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EXCERPT:



I scanned the well-kept grounds with my enhanced binoculars. Not one bush or tree marred the perfect lawn for several hundred feet in every direction. Heavily armed men dressed in SS uniforms surrounded the isolated chateau. They travelled in pairs with well-trained guard dogs, ready to annihilate any mouse that might try to slip onto the grounds.



However, if some lucky mouse made it to the building, these men most certainly had the bottom floor locked up tighter than a sacrificial virgin's chastity belt. Security shutters blocked every window so tightly that no light escaped and extra sentries guarded each exterior door. I saw no easy way to slip in from ground level.



Baker tapped me on the shoulder, but I ignored him and kept looking for the best route in.



Some of the upper floors had balconies, but they had guards, too. Machine gun nests sat at every corner of the roof, and more armed men watched over the grounds from every angle. The downtime primitives had designed their security well.



“Goddammit, Cahill,” Baker snarled, “Can you get in?”



I set the binoculars onto the dash of the hovercraft and stared at the beefy crime lord. I quashed the overwhelming temptation to tell him to shut the hell up. That would get me killed as surely as jumping over the side of the vehicle naked. “That's what I'm making sure of, Mister Baker. They have tight security, but I can get in.”



He didn't look convinced. “You're crazy. You can't spit without hitting a fucking Nazi storm trooper. We need to call this off and try again later.”



I shook my head. “Not if you want this to work. You won't find lax security when he's around. We have to act now. He'll stop us if he finds out, and believe me; you do not want to get caught by these guys.” A bitter taste flooded my mouth.



He grunted. “Humph, I forgot. They killed your papa. I guess that gives you a little different perspective. So convince me I'm wrong or I'm pulling the plug on this fiasco and we go back to the base camp and do things my way.” His tone implied that if I couldn't make it work, he'd return to the future alone.



Stubborn, stupid bastard. I forced a grin on my face. It felt artificial. The nanite surgery accounted for some of that sensation, but mostly I didn't smile…ever.



“Do you always tell your experts how to do their jobs? We know the attempt on Hitler's life happens in an hour. The ripple effect from that should hide what we're doing from the cops, which means I have to go in tonight…unless you'd rather give up any chance at the treasure.”



He grimaced and glared at me for a long moment before nodding. “Fine, but if things go to hell, you're on your own.”



I chuckled dryly. “Don't worry, I've got this.”



He shrugged. “It's your funeral.”



I brought the hovercraft over the center of the roof and stopped it about a thousand feet up. I stood and checked the small neurodisruptor in my pocket and the contragravity harness under my jacket. The readouts showed green.



I climbed onto the platform built onto the side of the hovercraft and looked down. I could barely make out the roof in the moonlight and my stomach did a slow roll at the height. I took a deep breath, switched the harness to active mode, and stepped off into thin air.