CAIRO, EGYPT – 5 DECEMBER 1943
I've been asked to write an account of the last few days, although I'm not sure why. I'm not sure that anyone who was involved in these events will ever want them to become public knowledge. But the request came all the way from the top – I have a telegram in my hand from "Wild Bill" Donovan himself insisting on it. If there really are things that man was not meant to know, then perhaps the men who do know those things will have to be monitored.
For the record, then, let me introduce myself. My name is Daniel Garrett. I was born on March 3rd, 1919, in Hub City, Illinois. I used to be a police officer, a career that I decided on to honour the memory of my father, Patrick, a good cop who was killed on duty. For a while, I was even one of what have lately been called "mystery men"; I was young and rash. Maybe, and I really thought that I could fight crime behind a mask and have more effect than I'd have as a rookie patrolman. It kind of worked, for a while, and I think that I did some real good in what turned out to be a short career on the streets as the Blue Beetle. Yes, it was a dumb name; the costume which I put together to protect myself was blue – mainly a chain-mail mesh – and I liked the alliteration.
I was probably a bit naïve in thinking that I could stop people connecting the Beetle and Dan Garrett. I was lucky in that the first people outside my own circle to make the link were from the Government. About six months ago, I was offered – let's call it an "offer", it sounds better – a role within the Office of Strategic Services. I'm not the typical OSS candidate – there are too many East Coast old-money types here for my liking – but even in just three years or so behind a mask, I'd seen enough weird stuff that Mr Donovan – who wanted guys for whom nothing seemed too crazy – figured I'd fit right in. Maybe, one of these days, I'd agree with him.
The Cairo assignment came as a surprise. I wasn't officially attached to the White House or any of the offices which had a hand in the conference being set up. When the history of these years is written, it'll say that FDR met with Churchill and Chiang Kai-Shek to decide how the Allies were going to deal with the Japs. It won't mention these events at all, and that's probably a good thing.
What finished in Egypt began half a world away in New York City and what seemed to the world like a slightly run-down exhibition site. A uniquely privileged few, though, knew that what had been the site of the World's Fair in Queens was now the headquarters of America's most four-coloured line of defense. But I was still a stranger here. I was nominally a member of the All-Star Squadron – as were virtually all known mystery-men of the time – but I'd been here only once, in the great blaze of publicity when the President set it up, just after Pearl Harbor. That allowed me to feel a little unnerved when I was greeted by the base's hulking robot major-domo Gernsback.
That something big was going on started to loom up when I was met by my notional host. For those who may be reading this account years into my future, Harry Hopkins was one of the President's most trusted men. "Thank you for coming, Mr Garrett," he said as he shook my hand. "I apologise for what might seem to you like needless cloak-and-dagger; by the time we're done, I think you'll see why."
Mr Hopkins led me into a well-appointed conference room. I remembered it from that big set-piece back at the start of '42, but it had been crowded beyond belief then. Tonight, there was only one other guest; a tall, dapper-looking fellow with dark hair and a thin pencil moustache. I thought that I recognized him, and his introduction proved me right. Giovanni Zatara – or "John", as he introduced himself – was better known to the public at large as a stage magician and illusionist. On the way here, I'd seen posters for a show that he'd done at Madison Square Garden only last week. The a-little-too-polished urbanity had to have hidden some clear power. No show-business charlatan would have gotten through these doors.
As Mr Hopkins and I sat down, Zatara spoke quietly. "Ruop eht aet otni eht spuc." An ornate teapot lifted itself from the table and poured for us cups of what he later said was a distinctly rare Himalayan tea blend. It was gratuitous, but my guess was that he wanted to show me his credentials. We spent maybe fifteen minutes or so in nondescript small talk before it came time to get down to business.
"Tell me, Mr Garrett, does the name Kha-ef-Re mean anything to you?" Zatara asked.
"If we're going to be working together for a while, better you call me Dan," I answered. "And no, that isn't a name that I recognise."
Zatara nodded. "Then call me John. And your unfamiliarity isn't unexpected. Very little survives in the historical record about Kha-ef-Re. What there is tends to overlap with Amenmesse, who is thought to be one of the children of the great Rameses II. Amenmesse was very briefly pharaoh at the end of the 13th century BC, and it's been speculated that he and Kha-ef-Re were the same man."
"That's all very illuminating, John, but what makes you and the Office interested in him?"
"I recently came into possession of information which suggests that a search is being made for the Blue Scarab. This is claimed to be an artifact of great power which Kha-ef-Re wielded as a weapon to clear his path to the pharaoh's throne. Accounts vary over what it could do, and what abilities it gave to its bearer." Zatara steepled his fingers, calling things back to mind. "Substantial strength and durability are consistent; an ability to fly is suggested; comments about "blue might in his hands" suggest some kind of ability to project at least electricity, if not something more exotic. If those tales are true, then the Office and the Squadron have an interest in ensuring that the Scarab does not fall into the Axis' hands."
"That I can see." As well as what would come next. "Then we're bound for Egypt?"
"You, yes. But I could not come with you. The risks are too great."
I did bridle a bit at that. "If it's risky for you, then it's risky for me."
"Different risks." Zatara sighed. "You're part of the Squadron, even if only… occasionally." He was polite enough not to say by courtesy. "You must have wondered why the likes of Superman, Doctor Fate or Green Lantern haven't flown to Berlin or Tokyo and brought Hitler and Hirohito to meet justice."
"Sure I have." Probably like half the country, I guessed.
"You'd have been told this before now if you'd worked more with the Squadron. The Führer holds a mystic weapon, known as the Spear of Destiny. By legend, it is the centurion's lance which pierced Jesus Christ's body as he hung from the Cross. With it, a spell was cast over the Axis territories. No mystery-man whose abilities are superhuman or magical in nature can enter those lands without his mind being taken over and his being forced to work for the Axis himself." He put the teacup back into its saucer.
Mr Hopkins took up the thread. "Egypt is not under military threat at present – the President actually flies to Cairo for a conference next week, and you'll be officially part of his entourage," he said. "But in light of that risk, we need… let's say, a regular person here. Your… advantages are technological, I'm told."
"The uniform is toughened," I allowed. "It's been mostly bulletproofed. I have an… associate who developed a compound which enhances my strength and stamina for short periods."
"Dr Franz, yes. We know of him." Of course "they" did. They probably knew what brand of toothpaste I favoured. "That's much as we'd anticipated. If the Spear's power does hold, you shouldn't be affected."
"I understand," I said. That wasn't quite true, but I thought that the gaps would be filled in later. "When do you need me to leave?"
"We've arranged a flight for you tomorrow evening. You'll leave Newark at 8:30." Hopkins picked up a small attaché case that had been beside his chair and placed it on the table. "Your briefing papers are in here. Please read them thoroughly. For security reasons, you won't be able to take them with you."
I guessed from Hopkins' shift in manner that the meeting was done. "I'll do so, sir. Thank you."
"Come with me," said Zatara. "It'd be as well if I acquainted you with the facilities, and then I'll leave you to get some supper and some sleep."