The Black Gate by Michael R. Hicks Page A

heart. The sheets were soaked with sweat, and his hand trembled as he reached for the light on the night stand.
    He stifled a cry of surprise when he saw Baumann sitting in the chair beside him, legs crossed. Staring at Peter, the Standartenführer wore a thoughtful expression as he puffed on a cigarette.
    “Bad dreams, Müller?” Baumann asked in a matter of fact tone.
    Peter nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He looked around the room, expecting to see guards ready to haul him away, his true identity discovered. But the rest of his apartment was empty.
    Baumann’s lips twisted up in a mirthless grin. “Get used to them. You won’t be having any happy dreams, not in this place.”
    “ Standartenführer ?” Peter rasped, finally regaining some composure. “What are you doing here?”
    “I thought we might have a private chat, you and I. Things here can be…complex, and I wanted to make sure that we had a mutual understanding.”
    “Of course, sir.” Peter balled his hands into fists, trying to quell their trembling.
    A chuckle tumbled from Baumann’s throat. “Oh, you mustn’t be afraid, Peter. Had I held any ill will toward you, you would already be dead. Or worse.” Baumann’s expression became thoughtful again. “There are worse things than being dead, you know. Much worse.”
    “How…how may I be of service, sir?” Peter asked, not willing to pursue the course of inquiry Baumann had left hanging. Death was bad enough. If there was worse, Peter had no wish to know more about it.
    “Something is wrong in this place,” Baumann told him. “Little things that only I see. Von Falkenstein is blind to everything but his science, and he does not believe that anything is amiss.” He leaned closer. “But I know. Someone is here who does not belong, someone who does not have the interests of the Reich at heart. Someone, I suspect, who is on the operations team, close to the Herr Professor . I thought it was the fool who designed the computing machine, but I see now that perhaps I was hasty in rendering judgment on him. I have you to thank for opening my eyes in that regard.”
    “You are…most welcome, sir,” Peter said.
    Baumann tapped some of the ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray on the nightstand. “You must be on guard, Peter. Watch. Listen. Trust no one. Suspect everyone. We two, more than anyone else in this fantastic place, are the Führer’s Teutonic Knights, the guardians of the Reich’s future. We must be vigilant. Nothing must prevent von Falkenstein from bringing this project to its ultimate fruition. Nothing.”
    Peter’s heart leaped into his throat as someone knocked at the door.  
    “ Herr Müller?” It was Mina. In a softer voice, she said, “Peter?”
    Baumann glanced at the door, then back at Peter. “ Peter , is it?” He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Be very careful with that one, my friend. She is a tiger you would rather not take by the tail, if you get my meaning.”
    Mina knocked again, more urgently this time. “Peter!” She whispered. “Are you all right?”
    Baumann got up and opened the door.  
    Surprised, Mina took a step back.  
    “Good evening, Fräulein ,” Baumann said as he brushed past her, “or is it morning? Does anyone know anymore? Or care?” After throwing her a mock salute, he headed down the corridor, chuckling to himself.
    “My God,” Mina breathed as she pulled the door closed. “What was he doing here? And are you all right? You look dreadful.”
    “Yes. No.” He shook his head, giving her an awkward, confused smile. “I don’t know. I had a terrible nightmare, and when I woke up, Baumann was sitting here.” He gestured to the now empty chair. “I guess I must have had too much wine at the dinner party.”
    “What did he want?”
    “He accepts my explanation of the problems with the computing device, but thinks someone is still trying to sabotage the project. He wanted me to keep my eyes and ears open, and to