Dennis Batchelder - Soul Identity 2 Soul Intent
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A VILLAINS REQUEST In 1946, soon-to-be-executed Nazi General Hermann Goering asks young Soul Identity overseer Archibald Morgan to take his looted gold and deposit it in a soul line collection, there to await his souls rebirth. A GRIM RESISTANCE Flora, a seventeen-year-old Gypsy girl whose father died in the Dachau concentration camp, is sure that Goering stole the gold. She struggles to persuade Morgan to reject the Nazis deposit, but Morgan prevails. A MYSTERIOUS THEFT Sixty-four years have passed. A repentant Morgan opens Goerings collection and discovers the gold is gone. In its place lies a cryptic journal. Morgan asks security expert Scott Waverly to find the thief and recover the gold. A THRILLING ADVENTURE Scott must race through Europe to uncover the elusive secrets of what really happened in Nuremberg... secrets that threaten to reopen old wounds, settle old scores, and lead to the golds-and his own souls-recovery.
Dennis Batchelder: author's other books
Who wrote Soul Identity 2 Soul Intent? Find out the surname, the name of the author of the book and a list of all author's works by series.
Dennis Batchelder
Mariëtte Whitcomb
Robert J. Morgan
Morgan Harper Nichols
Alex Wheatle
Morgan John Pierpont
Dennis Wesley
Alex Morgan
L Jaye Morgan [Morgan
B C Morgan [Morgan
Joseph Scott Morgan
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Dennis Batchelder
SOUL INTENT
(SOUL BOOK II)
Paperback: 276 pages
Publisher: NetLeaves (September 9, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0979805627
ISBN-13: 978-0979805622
PROLOGUE
October 15, 1946
Nuremberg, Germany
Archibald Morgan withdrew his hand from the prisoners clammy grasp and wiped it on the sleeve of his brown robe. The deposit has been made, he said.
The prisoner, a large man in a larger baggy uniform, licked his lips and spoke in a whisper. Everything left was accepted? My gold and my papers?
All of it. Morgan dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small sheet of flimsy paper. Your depositary receipt.
The prisoner took it and used his finger to caress the listed items. Sleep well, my little darlings. He handed the receipt back to Morgan. Please destroy this. If the guards discovered it after they His voice trailed off.
Neither of us would want that to happen. Morgan secreted the paper inside his robe. Good luck, sir.
I believe my luck has, how do you Americans put it? Run out. The man frowned. Keep everything safe for my return. His voice rose in volume. When I shall gaze upon the marble monument the Berliners erect in my memory.
The white-helmeted guard banged his stick on the door. The sound bounced off the stark walls. Enough already with that monument crap, he said. Keep the noise down, Nazi.
The prisoner bowed his head to the guard, then glanced at Morgan. Since the verdict two weeks ago, they have become unbearably rude, he whispered.
As the guard let Morgan out of the cell, the prisoner called out, I wont forget this, Archibald Morgan. I shall find you once I return, and I shall reward you for your good work.
The Soul Identity overseer shuddered at the thought. He shuffled as fast as he dared out of Nuremberg Prisons Cellblock C and almost tripped on his robe. He climbed the two flights of stairs, nodded at the soldier behind the desk, and escaped into the brisk October evening.
As far as Morgan was concerned, Reichsmarschall Hermann Goerings promises had fallen upon deaf ears. The Nazi general should rot in hell; his soul should never return.
He paused after he crossed the platz and stepped onto the sidewalk. Spotlights mounted on the Palais du Justice walls cast an array of sinister shadows in front of him. He had done his despicable duty. He alone had understood that the journey to a better world required distasteful compromises. Maybe someday Flora would also understand
He shook his head. Enough. The journalists he had met in the Nuremberg Grand Hotel bar were giving four to one odds that the eleven condemned Nazis would hang before sunrise. He had finished the deposit just in time. His work was finally over-he could flee this war-torn country and return to his own battles in Sterling.
ONE
Present Day
Kent Island, Maryland
They exploit people who believe in reincarnation, Lester the reporter said. He glanced up at me, pen poised over his pad. Did I get that right?
I didnt say that, Lester. If I squinted just right, the white streaks of scalp poking through his greasy combed-over hairdo looked like a bunch of tiny bananas.
Val sat next to me with her arms crossed. Her smile looked decidedly more forced than it did ten minutes ago, when this interview started.
The reporter gave me an oily smile. Im sorry, Mr. Waverly. Maybe you could repeat it for me.
Soul Identity assists people who like the concepts behind reincarnation, I said. This was my fourth rendition.
He wrote that down again. Got it. Exploits people who like the concepts behind reincarnation.
I said assists. Not exploits. I pointed at him. You put all kinds of words in my mouth last year, and its not going to happen again. Either get it right, or get out.
He flashed that used-car salesmans smile again. Assists. Thats what I said.
Val uncrossed her arms and rubbed her palms on her tanned legs, just below her white shorts. Lets just show him how it works, Scott, she said.
You think thats wise? I asked.
She shrugged. Weve got only twenty minutes until your picnic, and Lester seems tireless in his search for dirt. She smiled at him. No offense.
He smiled back, showing off a gap between his front teeth. None taken, Ms. Nikolskaya.
Do you have a reader? I asked her.
I always have a reader. She dug into her purse and pulled out a yellow device about half the size of a matchbox car. It had a tiny lens on one end and a big button on its side.
Whats that? Lester asked.
A camera, I said. Let Val take your picture, and well use it to explain how everything works.
Lester licked his palm and used it to smooth his hair. He sat up straight on the couch, sucked in his gut, and attempted to pull tight the gap in his shirt where his belly hair poked through. Then he smiled at Val. Ready when you are.
She looked at him steadily. Im taking a picture of your eyes, Lester. Its not a portrait. She brought the reader to six inches in front of his right eye and clicked the button.
My eyes?
Keep still. Val held the reader in front of his left eye and clicked again. Okay, Im done. She tossed me the reader. Work your magic.
I caught it and beckoned to Lester. Come with me as I uncover your soul. I followed that with the opening notes of Beethovens Fifth: Da-da-da-dum.
The three of us walked out of my living room and into the office.
Lester headed for the windows. You waste this scenery on your workplace? He gestured at the panoramic view of the Chesapeake Bay. Why not make this your living room?
Because this way we get to enjoy the view all day long. I flipped open the top of the reader, exposed its USB port, and plugged it into my laptop. Now watch carefully.
I clicked on my latest Soul Identity icon. Images of two brown eyes appeared on opposite sides of the screen.
Lester stood next to me. Those are my eyes? he asked.
I nodded. Pay attention.
The eye images cut away all but the two brown irises and pupils, then sprouted grid lines on their outside edges. The right iris rotated clockwise until it aligned with the left.
Youve improved your program, Val said. She stood behind my chair, her arms on my shoulders.
I leaned my head back and looked up at her. Her red hair caught the sunlight. One hundred percent automated, I said.
She smiled, which upside-down looked like a frown.
Is this some kind of way to steal my identity? Lester asked.
I straightened up. So far its just a photo of your eyes. Its not yet your soul identity.
The two irises moved toward each other, but instead of colliding, the left slid over the right. The screen filled with an enlarged view of the resulting single image.
Now itll calculate the differences between your two irises, I said.
A few dozen arcs, whorls, lines, and starbursts glowed on the screen, and the overlapped irises faded to a very light brown. The computer beeped.
I pointed at the image. And there you have it, I said to Lester. Thats your soul identity.
Is it like a fingerprint? he asked.
If you mean, is it unique, then yes, its the only one just like it in the whole wide world.
At least for now, Val said. But after you die, that identity will come back in somebody elses eyes.
He turned to her. What does that mean?
She smiled. Your soul identity repeats. Before you were born, another person carried it in their eyes. And after you die, somebody else will get it.
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