The Diaries - 01 (57 page)

Gage stood,
extending his hand.
 
“Thank you for
agreeing to meet me.
 
We met once
before.”

“Oh yes, I
remember all too well.”
 
The two men
shared a look that only two intelligence men can know and understand.
 
Gage motioned for him to sit.

Once
Galeena
had a decaf coffee, Gage ordered a seafood platter
to be courteous to the restaurateur.
 
“And
we’ll be fine until the food arrives,” Gage told the waitress with a polite
smile.
 
When she was gone, he turned to
Galeena
, chewing on his bottom lip as he tried to decide
how best to begin.

“Sir, I need your
help.”

“In France, with
the Glaives?”
Galeena
asked, his eyes narrowing as
his full lips turned upward on one side, hinting at a smile.

Gage dipped his
head, offering a polite acknowledgement of
Galeena’s
gathering abilities.
 
“No sir.
 
That situation, unless you know something
else, has passed.”

Galeena’s
silence was answer enough.

“If you would be
willing, I need you to set up a meeting for me and someone with great authority
in your government.”

Galeena’s
face clouded.
 
“What sort of authority?”

“The authority to make
an exchange for something of incredible value, of which the content is
earth-shattering and history-altering.”

A sip of the
coffee.
 
“I see.
 
What else can you tell me?”

Gage spoke for ten
more minutes.
 
The seemingly unflappable Ben
Galeena
listened riveted, bereft of speech for some
time afterward.
 
He sat there, arms
crossed, chin to his neck, deep in thought.
 
Eventually he made a call on his cell phone.

Gage never used
the ferry ticket.
 

Two hours later
Gage and
Galeena
were thirty-eight miles away, in
Jerusalem, having been whisked there in a black government Yukon outfitted with
bulletproof glass.
 
That evening, Gage
and several others flew on a Gulfstream G550 to
Heraklion
Airport, on Crete’s north coast.
 
They
taxied to a private hangar where another anonymous SUV sped them away.
 
Gage spent the remainder of the night and the
entire following morning in his modest Kallithea apartment, watching as two
government officials and an elderly historian read every single word of the diaries
in spellbound silence.

Sometime around noon
of the following day, the senior most government official closed the 1938
diary.
 
He glanced at his associate and
at the historian, uttering but two words.
 
“Well, gentlemen?”

The men exchanged
glances before the historian closed his eyes and nodded soberly.

 
***

Crete, Greece

The
cell phone buzzed in Gage’s pocket.
 
“Hello?”

“Gage Hartline…Ben
Galeena
here.”

Gage paused for a
deep breath.
 
“Yes, sir.”

“It’s done.”

“Tell me.”

“They brought her
in, telling her that an inheritance had been discovered from her family.
 
They explained that it had grown in value
and, she being the sole heir, was due to receive all of it.”

“And what about going
away for medical treatment?”

“They broke that
pretty gently, using her time in the death camp as the reasoning.”

“She accepted it
without reservation?”

“Oh no, she
certainly had reservations.
 
In fact, I’m
not yet certain if her negotiation skills came from her father or her
mother.
 
There were elements of
shrewdness and outright bullying in the deal she cut.”

Gage missed the
joke.
 
“What did she ask for?”

“That her cats,
forty-three of them to be exact, be allowed to go with her.”

“Did you arrange
it?”

Galeena
laughed.
 
“Of
course we did, are you nuts?”

“And you’re certain
she will live in anonymity?”

“Gage, the people
involved—a very tight group of only four—have no desire to harm this woman more
than she’s already suffered.
 
She will
never be told.
 
Ever.”

Gage felt relief
flood over him as he tilted his head back and smiled into the violet sky.
 
It only took him a moment to tell
Galeena
where to find the diaries.
 
He had taken no precautions against the
Israelis.
 
Had they wanted the diaries,
they could have stormed in and taken them at any time.

“Gage?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You should look
at your own checking account.
 
The one
that had a few hundred bucks in it.”

“Sir?”

“C’mon Gage, give
me some credit.
 
It wasn’t hard to
find.
 
There’s now a quarter of a million
in there, in dollars.
 
It seemed the
least I could negotiate for you.
 
I’d
advise you to move it someplace that pays you a little more interest, although
that’s tough to find these days.”

Gage was silent,
the breaths from his mouth filling the receiver.
 
“I don’t know what to say.”

“A good intel man
doesn’t say much, Gage, so you’re off to good start.
 
Best of luck to you.”

The line went
dead.

After hanging up,
Gage stared at the Mediterranean for a moment as the noonday sun began its
winter drop toward the horizon.
 
He
dialed another number.

“Hunter here.”

“Hello, sir.”

The retired
officer chuckled.
 
“Well, I heard you met
with
Galeena
.
 
Now, can you please tell me how the hell you’re doing?”

“I’m fine,
sir.
 
In more ways than one, too.”

The two men were
silent, both knowing exactly what the other was thinking.
 
Finally, Gage broke the silence.
 
“I’m here, sir, in Crete.”
 
He let that fact sink in for a moment.
 
“I now know, sir…I know it wasn’t my
fault.
 
Wasn’t yours either.
 
Sometimes bad things happen in life, and all
we can do is try to make up for them by doing something good.
 
It won’t un-ring the bell, but at least it
helps move things in the right direction.”

Hunter cleared his
throat.
 
“Sounds like I could learn some
things from you.”

They spoke for a
few more minutes, with Gage giving him cryptic detail on all that had
happened.
 
Afterward, the two men grew
quiet.

“Again, thank you,
sir.
 
Maybe we’ll speak again.”

“See that we do.”

“Roger out, sir.”
 
Gage flipped the phone shut, staring at it
for a moment before tossing it into the water. He then walked up the hill to
the apartment building that had haunted his dreams for the past four
years.
 
Gage stared at the front window,
now adorned with purple flowers in a flower box.
 
He remembered the flash of the MK3A2
concussion grenade that had taken the lives of the two children in an instant.
 
Somehow, over the past seven weeks, he had
been able to come to grips with what had happened.
 
There was no way he could have known, and
somehow he knew, if the children were there, they would forgive him.

Gage crossed the
busy street, walking several blocks into the city center.
 
He went into the bank, spending several hours
there.
 
When he left, he walked to his
apartment building, taking his backpack and paying the woman in the office
before giving her his key.

He walked down his
street, finally coming to a corner church that he had been eyeing each day as
he would walk for exercise.
 
From his
pack, Gage removed an envelope adorned with the bank’s logo.
 
He walked to the rear of the church, to the church’s
small orphanage and, after passing through the gate and yard, went inside.

The dilapidated
orphanage was a zoo of noise and activity.
 
Fifty or sixty brown-skinned children ate their evening meal in complete
chaos.
 
Two nuns were doing their best to
keep the situation under control; they were clearly losing the battle,
obviously understaffed.
 
One nun caught
his eye, looking disapprovingly at the tan-faced man with the heavy beard.
 
Gage beckoned her from the door.

When she hit him
with rapid-fire Greek, Gage asked her if she could speak English.
 
“Of course,” she responded.
 
“Now what do you want?”

“I would like to
make a donation to the orphanage.”

She jerked her
head back slightly, undoubtedly misjudging this man’s intentions.
 
Before she could respond, Gage handed her the
envelope.

“What’s your
name?” she asked.

“I’d rather remain
anonymous.”
 
He pointed to the envelope.
 
“It’s a cashier’s check.
 
I hope it helps a little.”

Gage nodded
respectfully, turning and exiting.
 
He
watched through the window as the nun walked to the other nun, explaining the
exchange, puzzlement on her face.
 
The nun
opened the envelope and removed the check.
 
They peered at it together.
 
Gage
laughed aloud as he watched both of their mouths go slack.
 

He walked from the
yard of the orphanage, nearly penniless, happier than he had been in
years.
 
As he reached the bus stop, he dug
into his pocket and retrieved two objects: a pendant in the shape of the Greek
letter Mu, which looks like the standard alphabet letter:
 
M

He’d bought it at
a silver shop in Crete and planned to carry it from now on in memory of
Monika.
 
He stared at the pendant a
moment, remembering, finally raising it to his mouth and kissing it.
 
Then Gage unfolded a photocopy of one of the
final entries in Greta Morgenstern’s 1938 diary, hearing Monika’s voice as he
read it…

The situation here is unimaginable.
 
Heinrich and I stayed up all night last
night, discussing the atrocities, neither of us holding out much hope for the
future.
 
But diary, if I were to perish
this very moment, I could do so knowing I met the man of my dreams.
 
He is kind, he is tender, and I’m confident
of his undying love for me and my child.

No matter what happens, my life is complete.

Gage refolded the
photocopy, placing the silver M inside the folds.
 
His eyes went skyward.
 
He hoped Monika would be pleased with his
decisions.

The bus arrived;
Gage boarded.
 
In his hand was an airline
ticket.
 
His flight was due to leave in
three hours, and he was certain he could find work at his destination.

THE END

Read more about
Gage Hartline in TO THE LIONS, the follow-up to THE DIARIES that has already
been optioned for film by Solipsist Films.
 
TO THE LIONS is available at Amazon.

NOTE – I hope you
enjoyed this book.
 
Whether you did or
didn’t, would you mind writing a quick review at Amazon?
 
It can be as short as a line or two.
 
Doing so will assist with Amazon’s search
feature and will help other customers decide if THE DIARIES is right for
them.
 
I appreciate your help and your
support!
 
Please read on for acknowledgments.

Acknowledgements

As
you’re already aware, this book is a work of fiction.
 
Sufficient license was taken with a number of
subjects, and my approach to those subjects should not be taken seriously.
 
Any errors or inaccuracies are entirely my own
fault.
 

Before
I name those who helped me refine
The
Diaries
, I feel compelled to thank the members of our armed forces.
 
Not counting the challenging life of simply
being a soldier, these brave men and women have volunteered to risk their lives
in the name of our freedom.
 
To our
soldiers and veterans, I thank you.

I’m
extremely grateful to several authors.
 
Don McKale, Hitler expert and esteemed author, gave me insight about
Adolf Hitler I couldn’t have gotten anywhere else.
 
JT Ellison, novelist extraordinaire, has been
my sounding board and biggest cheerleader since day one.
 
Thanks to you both.

I’m
also indebted to my brilliant beta readers for being such willing test
subjects: Stephen, Jerry, Gina, Herr
Doktor
(you know
who you are), Frank & Linda, Fred & Jeanie, Ann, Curt, Phillip &
Gayla,
Mija
, Arnold, Eileen, Pam, and the Compton
Crew in Omaha.
 
A special thanks is owed
to Bob Thixton for his tireless efforts and advice.

My
wife Chrissy deserves an award for her patience.
 
Patience with my obsessions.
 
Patience with me.
 
Perhaps, someday, I will write something that
won’t immediately put her to sleep.

And
for my Army pal Mike, thanks for giving me the initial inspiration.
 
Although we’ll never be able to capture the
entire treasure trove of stories, I know we’ll keep trying.

I
owe a debt of gratitude to Jordana Megonigal for her wonderful editing and keen
eye.
 
Again, all mistakes are mine.

Finally,
I offer a loud shout-out to every dog-soldier I ever served with.
 
You helped me create the lasting
memories.
 
Broke, tired, and dirty…those
were some of my highest highs.

A
portion of every book I sell will be donated to the Wounded Warrior
Project.
 
Read more about the cause at
woundedwarriorproject.org

Again,
please rate and review this book wherever you purchased it, good or bad.
 
And I would love to hear from you!
 
Contact me by emailing
[email protected], or by visiting my website chuckdriskell.com.
 
I’m also on Facebook and Twitter.