Stuart Mackenzie doesn’t want to be a hero, just an ordinary guy with a wife and a job and a mortgage, but Destiny had other plans.
A decorated hero in the Second World War, two years later Stuart is nothing but a washed up short order cook estranged from his war-bride wife.
Walter, an old army buddy he hasn’t seen since the war offers him a job with the newly organized Central Intelligence Agency doing the same things he was so successful at during the war. But Stuart turns him down. He’d rather just be a regular guy. But when his wife leaves him, he reconsiders.
His first mission: investigate the crash of a flying saucer at Roswell, New Mexico. The Air Force claims it was really nothing more than a simple weather balloon, but what are they trying to hide? Join Stuart as he uncovers the truth behind the rash of saucer sightings, their origin in the occult laboratories of Nazi Germany and their influence on the events of the Cold War.
Humanity needs a hero. But will Stuart accept his destiny?
The big envelope contained a thick, typewritten report I wasn't interested enough to bother to read, and a stack of large photographs. I flipped rapidly through the pictures. But after looking at several, it struck me there was something strangely familiar about the face of the corpse.
When I finally finished, I glanced up to find Walter watching me like a cat outside a mouse hole. The grin on his face showed he knew I was on to something even though I hadn't said a word.
"Well?" He asked.
"I'm not sure, but I think I know the guy. It was five years ago, so I might be wrong." I tapped the stack of photos. "The corpse is the spitting image of a sergeant who gave me a tour of the SS Occult Center at Wewelsburg castle. We spent the whole morning together and then had lunch."
Walter eyed me like I was telling a big fish story. "How'd you get a guided tour of a Nazi castle? That wasn't in your personnel file."
"That was way back before your lazy ass was even wearing a uniform. I was working for British Intelligence then. Wasn't that about when you were a security guard for Pinkerton's?"
He glared at me.
I dropped the photographs onto the table and picked up the typewritten report, flipping through several pages to find the description I was looking for. Then I turned it around and handed it to Walter, pointing at one of the lines of text.
"See here? It says there's a symbol tattooed on his inside upper arm. The SS did that on all their recruits. It worked better than dog tags for identifying blood types. This guy is SS. I can't recall his name, but I'm positive that's what he is."
Walter circled the paragraph of the description and made a notation in the margin, grinning the whole time like the cat in Alice in Wonderland.
"Wonderful, wonderful. That'll put a nail in the coffin of their Martian theory. Why would a bunch of Martians send a Nazi soldier in to swipe Manhattan Project files?"
"Beats me. If the saucers were from outer space, I don't understand why they would be interested in the atomic bomb, anyway. If they could build spaceships good enough to get here from another planet, you'd think building an A-bomb would be child's play."
He nodded and stuffed everything back into his briefcase. It was getting along toward lunchtime, so we headed for the dining car to beat the rush. But as we made our way through the narrow passages of the train, I felt a nagging doubt about our conclusions. The thought of ex-Nazis working for the Soviets made even less sense than the idea of them working as paid mercenaries for Martians. Martians, at least, wouldn't hold the Nazis' past political affiliation against them. But if the saucers weren't from Russia, where were they from? And why were they looking for atomic secrets? And what did the former SS sergeant have to do with them?