| Matthew "Crash" Buckner. Fastest pen on the net. | | | | the surge at the end. If he could hold their attention until |
| Yeah, right. At the moment, he had one eye glued to | | | | near the end, he could hit them with a socko ending. |
| the pillow case and the other squinting away from the | | | | But what? Closing his eyes in concentration, Matt |
| glare of the sun coming through the window. A hazy | | | | drank some water. It tasted bitter, echoing his fears of |
| image of 11 AM on the clock surfaced to his brain. | | | | losing. Concentrate! he told himself. |
| Trying to think why he should get up. Oh, yeah, today | | | | The door to his cabin burst open after a brief knock. |
| was the Speed Writers Grand Competition.. | | | | McCauley tried not to show any expression that would |
| Matt plowed his way through the mess on the floor, | | | | give away the pounding of his heart. It was just the |
| moodily kicking an empty beer can into the kitchen. | | | | conductor asking for his ticket. A too long scrutiny |
| Why couldn't a writer of sixty-five retire in peace? | | | | metamorphosed into a sharp demand for his |
| Didn't he write enough stories for a lifetime? Social | | | | "Ausweise" papers. Prepared for the worst, McCauley |
| Security would pay for the basics, but he wanted to | | | | had, besides his German passport, a letter from a high |
| spend them on the coast of California, not in a hick | | | | official in the Bundeswehr, a bogus letter of introduction |
| town in Pennsylvania where he was. Matt blasted | | | | and carte blanc for any mode of travel. Though |
| himself with the hot water in the shower. Maybe a | | | | written on official stationary stolen from a German |
| shave and a quick breakfast would wake him up | | | | general's hotel room, it provoked a silent, suspicious |
| enough to face the challenge. | | | | stare from the conductor. Faced with such powerful |
| One hundred thousand dollars went to the winner of | | | | permissions, he left abruptly. Sagging back in the seat |
| the Speed Writers Grand Competition. The rules were | | | | and touching the hardness of the gun secreted near |
| simple: write a 2000 word short story in thirty minutes. | | | | his ankle, McCauley dared to plan his next step. |
| Millions of readers all over the net would log in, their | | | | Matt suddenly went blank. Nothing. Not a glimmer of an |
| pulses connected to the comparative heart rate meter. | | | | idea would pop into his brain. The irresistible meters |
| As they read the emerging story, the meter would | | | | grabbed at his eyes, confirming his worst fears. He |
| indicate their interest and give Matt a boost in the | | | | was dropping behind! Frantically, Matt rummaged |
| ratings. The money would go to the writer with the | | | | through the top drawer of the computer desk. There! |
| highest point total. Matt would go head to head with | | | | He knew he had a few bennies left from college finals. |
| the previous day's winner, "Garbage" Johnson. This | | | | He'd better take two. He could work them off later. No, |
| was the final match-up one last effort to win all the | | | | he'd better take only one -- he might get sick and blow |
| marbles. Please God let them pick a Title he knew | | | | the whole thing. He wondered if his opponent was |
| something about. | | | | having the same doubts. No. Just write the damn thing! |
| An old classmate, "Garbage" Johnson got his | | | | Dawn finally smudged the horizon. They were coming |
| nickname from his dad, who was also a writer. Unlike | | | | into the last stop before entering Poland. McCauley |
| his dad who wrote fourteen novels, two of which | | | | watched as boarders fussed with their luggage, one |
| fostered movies, "Garbage" made his money in the | | | | well-dressed civilian even arguing with a guard, berating |
| fifties writing for the pulp magazines. Sleazy police | | | | him with large gestures. There must have been |
| rags and low end sex magazines was more his style. | | | | something important in the trunks to cause that much |
| Four cents a word hardly paid for the rent unless he | | | | commotion. They must have been heavy, too, |
| cranked out three stories per day. Like "Garbage" | | | | because two burly porters were struggling to lift one |
| Johnson, Matt didn't get paid much more. His venues | | | | of the trunks onto the train. Curious as to their |
| were the romantic monthlies, True Story clones and | | | | contents, McCauley made a mental note to check |
| fillers for the daily rags. But he was still a hack writer. | | | | them out. Now the owner of the trunks was heading |
| The aspirin seemed to work, but Matt was still foggy | | | | this way. Damn! He'd have to share his cabin with this |
| from the party last night. A fast two mile run should | | | | guy. Suppose he got nosy and discovered that he |
| shape him up. The competition log in started at one | | | | wasn't a German citizen. The train hadn't moved yet. |
| PM.. plenty of time for a run. There was no use trying | | | | The conductor reappeared, asking for the new |
| to bone up for the challenge, since he wouldn't know | | | | occupant's papers. MacCauley noticed that his point of |
| the subject until one minute before the bell. He'd just | | | | origin was the same as his destination. It appeared |
| have to rely on his experience and natural talent. Half | | | | coincidental or were they both after the same fortune |
| way through the run, a passing shower viciously belted | | | | in gold? He also saw the hagenkreutz and eagle of |
| his face, plastering down his hair and tracking down his | | | | the SS on one of the papers. Then why was he in |
| neck. The cooling effect, though was welcome as | | | | civilian clothes? |
| Matt powered up the final hill. Panting fiercely, he | | | | The dreaded gong startled Matt. Three quarters of the |
| leaned on his gate to get his breath. His leg muscles | | | | time had passed. What happened to the half mark? |
| tingled from the effort, letting him know that he wasn't | | | | He must have missed it. He'd better start winding |
| a kid anymore. | | | | down. His climax must coincide with the allotted time or |
| Just in time, Matt changed into dry sweats. He booted | | | | his adrenaline meter would suffer. Speaking of which -- |
| up the computer and cued in the DSL. Logging onto | | | | how was he doing? Sparing a glance, Matt did a |
| the website, Matt lined up four glasses of water and a | | | | double take. He was slightly ahead, but as he watched, |
| spare laptop as backup. Its modem set at the same | | | | his opponent's meter gave a lurch forward. Frantically, |
| website and a thesaurus opened and ready. As he | | | | Matt addressed himself to the keyboard. The sweaty |
| waited, he propped his feet up on the tattered | | | | keys sounded loud in his ears, the space bar jumping |
| collection of notes for the novel he never had time to | | | | under his thumb. |
| write. He gazed around him at the walls lined with | | | | Later, his traveling companion fell asleep, his open |
| bookshelves. Not too many books filled the shelves, | | | | mouth making wet noises. McCauley quietly stood up |
| but every magazine he wrote for and wanted to write | | | | and left the cabin. Just in case, he took his only |
| for competed for space. Matt never read them, but | | | | carry-all with him. Two cars down rumbled the dining |
| enjoyed their very presence as proof of his industry. If | | | | car. He sat down at a table near the end and ordered |
| he won this competition, they would stay behind with | | | | a sandwich and coffee. A sign over the door to the |
| the second hand furniture and the out-of-date clothes | | | | next car showed the symbol for the toilet and a sign |
| in the closet. All he would need was his laptop and the | | | | declaring the baggage car off limits except to |
| novel inside his head. A new life waited just on the | | | | authorized personnel. He had to get in there. When the |
| other side of that mountain of a website, beckoning | | | | waiter came back, he asked the waiter if there was |
| with impossible promises and tons of money. It took | | | | any way he could check on his little dog in the |
| some luck, but he got this far, didn't he? Not bad for an | | | | baggage car. Informed that the door was open, he |
| old hack writer. | | | | assumed there would be no problem accessing the |
| His kitchen timer chimed once. He set it in case he got | | | | car. McCauley forced himself to take his time with the |
| distracted and missed the start up. Not wanting any | | | | sandwich and coffee, refusing seconds. The noise |
| interruptions he took the telephone receiver off the | | | | between cars was deafening as he skinned his |
| hook to his second line. False sounding applause and | | | | knuckles getting into the baggage car. Luckily, the trunk |
| whistles signaled the start of the contest. A large | | | | he was looking for stood on its side in the middle of |
| double faced meter took up most of the screen, | | | | the car. A quick search found a piece of metal he |
| needles set at zero. Over each was a caricature of | | | | could use as a crow bar. Lining the open trunk were |
| his and his opponents faces. His looked slightly drunk | | | | rows of what looked like stockings. MacCauley hefted |
| with wild-looking hair and eyes at half mast. "Garbage" | | | | one and found it quite heavy for its size. Unwrapped, |
| Johnson appeared bloated and a little disgusted. The | | | | the bar inside looked a dull gray, but was stamped with |
| announcer recapped the competition so far, alternating | | | | official looking marks on one side. Gouging the surface |
| with promos for their latest "Best Seller" and extolling | | | | proved his suspicions that it was really gold! It was the |
| the virtues of their book club. | | | | very same gold stolen from the Polish government |
| Finally, the Title was announced as ..ta da.. "Hitler's | | | | needed by the Nazis for the purpose of extending the |
| Gold". Matt's instant response was. "Wasn't this done a | | | | war. |
| hundred times already?" Oh, well, here goes. At the | | | | Sweat was now dripping down the sides of Matt's |
| chime, Matt started to write. The clackety clack of the | | | | face, the water almost gone, and the time running out. |
| wheels wound down, signaling an unscheduled stop. | | | | Matt figured he had a few minutes left to cap off the |
| Major McCauley looked at his civilian watch, noting the | | | | story before the final gong sounded. He had to know |
| time. In these days of dusk before the war was | | | | how his enemy was doing. The meters stood near the |
| officially declared over, anything could happen to | | | | highest mark, neck to neck and moving. This was |
| jeopardize his mission. | | | | going to be close. A mere thousand dollars went to |
| At the word 'mission', the adrenaline meter by his | | | | second place. Pound those keys, make the deadline or |
| name jumped up one division. His opponent's hadn't | | | | die! That was Matt's credo his whole life as a writer. |
| moved. Then just as he gathered his thoughts for the | | | | Write or don't eat. Write or walk the streets. |
| next sentence, Matt saw the meter on the right side of | | | | Deep in a secret pocket, MacCauley dug out a syringe |
| the screen take a double hit. Damn, he'd better get | | | | prepared with a powerful sleeping potion. A gun wasn't |
| moving. Mentally vowing not to look at the enemy | | | | the only weapon at his disposal. His sleeping visitor |
| meter, Matt went to work. The next sentence flew | | | | now snored softly, not waking upon Matt's entrance. |
| across the screen. | | | | The drug would wear off in twelve hours, leaving him |
| Just the thought of twenty million dollars of raw gold | | | | dizzy and disoriented. McCauley had replaced the |
| made his heart pound. A cheap shot, but that ought to | | | | labels on the trunk of gold bars with the labels |
| get their hearts going. Hitler didn't own it any more than | | | | prepared for the gold's shipment out of Poland. The |
| he did. The report of its whereabouts burned a hole | | | | train finally started to move but in the wrong direction! |
| near his heart. Somewhere in a coal mine in Poland | | | | The change in direction shocked him at first, then he |
| was stashed the bars of gold that would have allowed | | | | realized that it solved all his problems. The train was |
| the Reich to live on. The location was inadvertently | | | | heading back into Germany. His expected two week |
| revealed in a news report on the last page of the | | | | mission was over before it started and one phone call |
| Berliner Zietung. Unfortunately, Major McCauley's | | | | would secure the gold for the Americans. A grim smile |
| opposite number in intelligence undoubtedly also saw | | | | tugged at the corners of his mouth as he turned back |
| the report. He was probably heading there right now | | | | to the compartment to take care of his prisoner. The |
| from somewhere deep in Germany. Air travel was | | | | End. |
| impossible and a car would take too long what with all | | | | Matt stared at his frozen meter. It stuttered then |
| the check zones in place. So he probably used the | | | | jumped to the top of the scale. He won! He did it! |
| rails just as he himself did. | | | | California here I come! Matt went to the closet and |
| A gong sounded from the computer signaling that one | | | | started to pack. Into the empty suitcase he lovingly |
| quarter of the allotted time had passed. Matt stole a | | | | placed the notes for his novel. His dreams went in with |
| look at the adrenaline meters. His meter showed him | | | | them. |
| ahead by a nose, its steady but slow rise wavering at | | | | Thogh not primarily a fiction writer, that vehicle |
| the half way point. The only thing that counted was | | | | presents a viable face for exploring the future. |