Chronospace by Allen Steele Page A

eye he could see her figure half-reflected on the wallscreen, like a ghost superimposed above the nightscape of Frankfurt-Am-Main. “The advance team picked up the Pannes about an hour and half ago, shortly after they left the Frankfurter Hof on their way to the opera. They were alone, and nobody saw them. They’re at the safe house in Griesheim, and Hans will pick them up outside town tomorrow night after the Hindenburg departs from the aerodrome.”
    “And our bags?”
    “They’re on the way right now. Oh, and one more thing . . .” He reached to the high collar of his shirt, pressed his thumb and forefingers against his throat to activate the subcutaneous mimics implanted within his vocal cords. When he spoke again, his voice was gravelly and lower-pitched, with a distinct American accent. “We’ve received the voice patterns from the extraction team,” he said, and watched when she jerked her head in surprise. “I’ve already downloaded mine from the AI. Remember to get yours.”
    “I won’t forget.” She let out her breath with relief. If one of the most risky parts of the mission had been the extrication of John and Emma Pannes from the city, then successfully obtaining their vocal patterns had been one of the most delicate. “So where’s Vasili going to put us down?”
    “He wanted to put us down in the Botanischer Garten, but I held out for the Rothschild estate.” When the German members of the Rothschild family fled the country earlier this year, the grounds of their Frankfurt home had been claimed by the Nazi government; already it had been turned into a public park. “It’s much smaller, but we shouldn’t have any trouble.”
    “No radar, and this side of the city isn’t known for its night life.” An irritated sigh. “Button me up, will you? I can’t reach behind me.”
    She was wearing an ankle-length white evening gown of the late-1930s style. Artifacts Division had done their usual thorough job of researching contemporary fashions and tailoring authentic replicas, but he hoped that this style was close to what Emma Pannes had worn when she and her husband had left the Frankfurter Hof earlier this evening. Franc buttoned up the back of her dress, and she turned around to face him.
    “How do I look?”
    “Like my wife.” He couldn’t help but grin.
    “Give up.” But she smiled when she said that, and it was a testament of the effectiveness of her nanosurgical treatment that her cheeks reddened slightly. “Get through this, and I might reconsider your proposal.”
    “I”ll remember that.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Ready?” he asked, and she nodded as she picked up her overcoat. “All right, then . . . let’s go.”
    They joined Hoffman in the passenger compartment and watched on the wallscreen as the Oberon fell toward the city. Metz brought the timeship down until it was two thousand meters directly above Rothschild Park, then paused to sweep the area with its infrared scopes. It was a drizzly Sunday night; as they anticipated, few people were on the streets, and the park was deserted.
    Only the gentle stirring of tree limbs signaled the Oberon’ s silent descent upon a broad clearing in the park’s center. Its hull now matte black, the timeship was virtuallyinvisible to the naked eye. A few seconds before touchdown, its landing flanges spread open. The negmass drive whisked dead leaves aside as the saucer settled down, then everything was still.
    As Hoffman opened the airlock hatch, Franc hastily turned off the interior lights. “Just to be on the safe side,” he murmured before he climbed down the ladder to the ground. He waited until Lea had come down the ladder, then he looked back up at Hoffman. “See you in New Jersey,” he added.
    “I’ll be waiting. Good luck.” Hoffman gave him a quick thumbs-up, then the hatch irised shut.
    Franc took Lea’s arm as they trotted away from the timeship. Once they were clear of the landing site, they