“That’s the first hole,” Hitler said. “We tee-off a mesa, into a valley of death, but you will fear my evil. Let’s check-in to the pro shop.” They got out of the Alpha Romeo next to a building that looked like a bus station. When they opened the front door, the bell jangled.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” The head pro asked. He was bald, wearing black sunglasses. Obviously, an Englishman.
“18 holes—for two.” Hitler said.
“Will you be walking or riding?”
“I’ll be riding. Pack a cooler with your best beer.”
“How about your friend?”
“He can walk.”
“Are you sure? It’ll be a scorcher.”
“I’m sure—as sure as my name is Adolf Hitler!”
“German—eh? We beat you boys in The Great War!”
“It’s not over—till it’s over!”
“Come on, man. Of course, it is! Do you need any balls or tees?”
“I’ve got plenty of balls,” Hitler said. “I could use a few tees.”
“Okay. Give me your money.”
Hitler pulled his Luger, and painted the pro shop with his brains. “Intelligent,” he said. “Very intelligent. You see how the grey matter, mingles with the red.” After admiring his art, Hitler left the pro shop. “If only I could put some money on this game.”
“Why don’t we gamble for life and death?” Gregson suggested.
“You don’t have any leverage. You are going to die, regardless.”
“But what if I did?”
“I know you stole the World Almanac—and it works. Not a bad way to make a few bucks, am I right?”
“Well, money isn’t everything. It can buy power, but not all the way.”
“What are you driving at?”
“You almost become world chancellor, but you make several blunders, that force you to swallow a lead pill.”
“What kind of expert are you?”
“From the future.”
“The possibility of traveling into the past…” Hitler said in a far-off voice. “I could steal rare antiquities, that would enhance my power—recover the Cup of Christ, and melt my enemies with the ark of the covenant! What year did you come from?”
“Only if you win, will you find out!”