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