Most of them were oblivious to everything and everyone around them. She recognized the convenience and the amazing scale of the internet but, to her, an outsider, modern technology created a bubble around people that cut them off from the world. It was a strange kind of floating alienation that she’d never experienced, and she found it disturbing.
It increased her homesickness, and she longed for her own time, for her friendly neighbors and family, for the local shops and the proprietors whom she knew by first name. How would she ever adapt to this time, to this world?
She was reading an article about the global fears of a recession when she sensed someone standing close behind her. With a racing pulse, she gathered her courage, slowly turning her head. She didn’t gasp, but her breath stopped.
On his cell phone, Leon had shown her photos of his Uncle Alex, and that’s who stood looking down at her.
“Don’t be frightened, Ms. Billings,” he said in a calm voice. “I’m not here to harm you in any way.”
Anne kept her round, frightened eyes on him. He had a powerful force in his eyes and a stare that held purpose. He unbuttoned the top button on his wool peacoat and then removed his black ski cap, running a hand across his short, gray hair.
Her blood ran cold. She was trapped. There was nowhere to run where he couldn’t stop her.
Alex rubbed his gloveless hands together, hoping to disarm her. “It’s cold out there, isn’t it? I always forget how cold it can get in December.”
Anne’s chest tightened in alarm.
He made a gesture toward the empty chair across from her. “May I join you?”
She swallowed but didn’t speak.
“I promise I won’t take much of your time. I just want to, as you Brits like to say, chat a bit.”
Anne lowered her eyes and her voice, and she reached for her purse. “I was just leaving.”
“Then can I walk with you?”
She couldn’t force any words beyond her lips. Was it safer to stay, or to leave and walk? Did he have a gun? Was a car waiting for her outside? Anne’s mind and body locked up. She couldn’t think. She wanted to scream, but that would create a scene and bring the police. She had no identification yet.
Alex’s voice softened. “I just want to ask you a few questions, Ms. Billings. That’s all. Please.”
Alex saw the wild fear in her eyes. She was like a trapped animal, frantic to find an escape. He decided to chance it and sit. He rounded the table and gently lowered himself in the chair opposite her, hoping she wouldn’t make a run for it.
“Would you like another coffee? Something to eat?”
She shook her head, her eyes averted.
“Have you had lunch? We could go somewhere. There’s a couple of cafes close by.”
Again, she shook her head.
Alex released the buttons on his coat and sat back, appraising her new look. “Ms. Billings, the blonde wig is very becoming.”
She wouldn’t look at him and, when she spoke, her voice quivered. “It didn’t do its proper job, did it?”
Alex smiled. “Leon is head-smart. Not street-smart. Not smart in his gut. I’m very fond of him, and he has a brilliant mind for numbers and logical processes, a good left-brain guy. Did you know that he’s got two sisters, both younger, and they look up to him, even if they think he’s a bit out there, and a definite clean freak?”
“Out there?” Anne asked, not understanding the expression.
“‘Out there’ means different, unique or eccentric.”
Anne nodded. “He’s been kind and generous to me.”
“I’d say he’s smitten. You are a very pretty woman, Ms. Billings.”
Anne reached for her paper cup and took a sip of the cold latte, uncomfortable with his words. She didn’t want to be told she was pretty by this man. She didn’t trust him, sensing cold calculations going on behind those dark eyes.
“I know the way Leon thinks,” Alex said. “I was sure he’d suggest you stay in his apartment, thinking it was the perfect hideout. I’m a little surprised that Constance Crowne agreed but, then again, she knew I would drop by her place and want to speak with you. I also know the awful thing that happened to her daughter, and it’s understandable why she has taken you under her wing.”
Anne was already weary of his talk. She looked at him boldly, although her heart was jumping around in her chest. “What do you want?”
His gaze was acute and sharp. “All right, I’ll be direct. I’d like to interview you, formally, and then I’d like to take that interview to my superiors and get the nod to continue to work with you. Even with the interview, I’m not sure my boss would believe me, but I’d like to try. Then I could put more resources on it.”
“Resources on it? The it is me, I presume?”
Alex didn’t waver. “The it refers to your remarkable experience and our further investigation into that experience.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“I believe you have a lot to say, and I’d love to hear every little part of it, in detail.”
“I want to be left alone. Now, will you please leave me in peace?”
Alex leaned forward, excitement making his face young and thrilled. He lowered his voice. “I saw the truth of it in Leon’s eyes. That is, the truth of what happened to you. When I showed Leon that newspaper clipping, with your photo and the article from 1944, he turned white. Then the excitement grew in him until he literally shouted for joy and jumped up into the air. Leon is not the emotional type. He’s anything but.”
Anne glanced about, searching for an escape. Could she leap up and bolt away? But where would she go? She couldn’t return to Leon’s apartment now that Alex was onto them, and returning to Constance’s townhouse was out of the question. Anne didn’t want to put Constance in any danger. And Alex would easily find her if she went to stay with Dr. Jon Miles.
She was trapped. The man sitting across from her worked for a secret government agency and she knew all too well what that meant.
Anne’s left leg began to twitch and hurt, aggravated by the distressing conversation. The memory of the shrapnel wounds seemed fresh and burning, and nerves beat away at her.
“Ms. Billings, I was still not so easily convinced that you had time traveled, or jumped through time, or slipped through time, or whatever you want to call it. But seeing you here, sitting across from me, I observe that there is something—how do I say it? Something ineffable about you. Your gestures, the way you carry yourself… your…” he glanced up at the ceiling, searching for the right word. “Your overall quality and, for lack of better words, your presentation to the world. I watched you carefully as you left the apartment and walked here. It’s as though you’re not quite synced to this time; as though part of you is here, but another part of you is not.”
Anne looked at him with pale despair.
He continued. “Ms. Billings, I believe that you have had an exceptional experience; a rare and extraordinary encounter with something so mysterious that most people would never consider it as possible. But I believe it. I believe you have traveled in time. Think of it. You’ll be examined and interviewed and written about. It will be top secret, of course, but with your cooperation, you could very well change the way we perceive and experience the world. To put it dramatically, you are like an alien from another planet and I want to learn from you as much as I can.”
Alex watched curiously as Anne struggled to her feet.
An agony ran up her legs into her stomach, striking her heart. Her head pounded, and she fought to breathe.
Alex said, “Ms. Billings, please sit down. You don’t look well.”
She faltered, then sat limply down, feeling defeated. As she struggled to recover, she stared hard at him, absorbing the horror of his words.
“Don’t be frightened, Ms. Billings. As I said, you will not be harmed. You will be celebrated.”
He stared with a pleased anticipation.
Anne’s breath came out in shallow
puffs. “Mr. Fogel, despite what Leon may think or what you believe, I am not who or what you think I am, and I wish to be left alone. Now, I beg of you. Leave me alone. Please, leave me in peace.”
Alex kept his steady eyes on her. “No, Ms. Billings. I will not.”
CHAPTER 23
Anne felt pinned to her chair by Alex’s unremitting gaze. She fought to control herself. She had to. Panic wouldn’t help. As a chill gushed through her and the sounds around her were swallowed up, she sought to quiet her mind.
Alex leaned forward, folding his hands on the tabletop. “I want to tell you a little story, Ms. Billings. Perhaps you’ve even heard of it. It’s a true story entitled The Vanishing Heiress. It’s about the disappearance of Dorothy Arnold, a New York socialite, who vanished here in New York in the middle of the day in 1910 and was never seen again. To this day, there is still much debate as to what happened to her. When I saw the newspaper clipping from 1944 with your photo and your name, I recalled Miss Arnold’s story and I pulled it up on the internet and reviewed it.
“She was a twenty-five-year-old woman from a family of wealth and status, descended from the Mayflower. It was reported that she was funny and smart. Her ambition was to be a successful author. Her uncle was a United States Supreme Court justice, and her father was a graduate of Harvard, a cosmetics and perfume importer.
“On December 12, 1910, Miss Arnold went for a walk. Her mother wanted to accompany her, but Miss Arnold declined her mother’s company. Miss Arnold was dressed fashionably and, even though it was a cold day, she walked many blocks to Fifth Avenue. On the way, she passed people she knew and stopped to talk. She bought candy from a store owner she knew and was friendly with. The people she’d spoken to said she was upbeat and happy.
“She entered Brentano’s bookshop on Fifth Avenue and 27th Street, bought a book on sketching, and then left. She ran into yet another friend and they had a brief conversation, but nothing of any consequence. Miss Arnold then told her friend that she was going for a walk in Central Park. The friend stated that Miss Arnold was well and happy.”
Alex narrowed his eyes on Anne. “And then, just like that, Miss Arnold was never seen nor heard from again.”
Anne waited, her gaze steady. “I assume there’s more to your story, sir?”
“Yes. Theories, stories and speculation ran rampant. One concerned a lover, someone she’d been fond of and even romantic with. The theory was, perhaps she had run off with him, even eloped. But at the time, the man was with his parents in Italy. He posted newspaper ads asking her to contact him, but she never did. There was a theory that she committed suicide, but everyone she’d met that day stated she was happy and not depressed in the least. There was no suicide note, an oddity, given that she wanted to be a writer, and her body was never found. There was a theory about a kidnapping in Central Park that was purported by Miss Arnold’s father, but nothing ever came of it. There was simply no evidence.
“At first, her parents wanted to avoid a public scandal so, rather than call the police, they contacted the family lawyer. He searched Miss Arnold’s room and possessions but found nothing the least bit suspicious. Then he searched every morgue, hospital, and ship port for the missing heiress but turned up nothing. Next, the family contacted the Pinkerton Detective Agency.
“The Pinkertons posted Miss Arnold as a disappearance, and they circulated her photo to police departments across the country, along with a one-thousand-dollar reward, a lot of money in 1910, hoping that someone would come forward with information or evidence.”
Alex straightened up, his eyes still leveled on Anne. “To this day, no one has ever learned what happened to Miss Dorothy Arnold. Over the next decade, her parents spent a fortune trying to find their daughter, but she was never found, and the mystery has never been solved.”
The story had bought Anne some time. It allowed her to gather herself and still her mind. Although the story was an interesting one, Anne focused all her thoughts on how she could break out of the trap she was in. “So what are you saying, Mr. Fogel?”
Alex inhaled a breath and let it out slowly. “There are other stories similar to that one, Ms. Billings, where people have disappeared, or they have found themselves in a future time from the one they left. Like you, Ms. Billings, I believe that Miss Dorothy Arnold stumbled upon a weird phenomenon; perhaps it was a burst of a mysterious wind that carried her away; a fallen tree branch that struck her; or perhaps a hidden doorway that hurled her into the future or the past, and she was never heard from again, at least not in 1910.”
Anne’s head was pounding as she sought a solution for her predicament.
“Now, as to your disappearance in 1944, Ms. Billings, according to what Leon told me, you were caught in an air raid, unable to escape to an air raid shelter. I believe that a five-hundred-pound bomb, dropped by one of those German Heinkel bombers, exploded near you and then somehow, someway, it blasted you into the future.”
Alex reached into his coat pocket for his Blackberry. He quickly scanned it, purposely letting Anne sit in an uncomfortable silence. By the time he replaced his phone, Anne was surprised by a memory; by the fragment of an old conversation that had taken place at Bletchley Park. A conversation she’d had with Roland Richards and Anne’s good friend at Bletchley, Harriet Taylor.
Roland worked at the Whaddon Hall facility used by communication staff from the UK’s Special Intelligence Service (SIS), also known as MI6, from 1939 to 1945. He was friendly with Harriet Taylor and, in fact, they were secretly having a romantic relationship. Harriet worked as a code-breaker at Bletchley.
The three of them were standing outside on a coffee break on a warm spring day in 1941. Anne was new to Bletchley, and Roland and Harriet were talking shop. It was Harriet who explained to Anne how the German messages were obtained by the ‘Y’ Service, a chain of wireless intercept stations across Britain and in a number of countries overseas.
Harriet said, “Bletchley decrypts the messages, Anne, and then the contents have to be analyzed. After interception, the encrypted messages are taken down on paper and sent to Bletchley by motorcycle or teleprinter. The final step in the code-breaking process is to send the resulting top-secret intelligence to the relevant people.”
But it was what Roland had said that was relevant to her situation. He’d said a spy had returned from Germany, and he’d nearly been caught by two local German sympathizers.
“He managed to save himself because he remained unruffled,” Roland had said. “All an act, of course. The chap was bloody terrified. Nonetheless, the old boy told the men that he would cooperate any way he could, and he would jolly well be happy to do so, although he didn’t say ‘jolly’ because he was speaking in German. Anyway, when he had his captor’s absolute attention, he told them bits and nobs about his own mission, just enough to make his story believable, mind you—just enough so they could check him out. He gave them some names—fellow Brits who’d been recently captured by the Gestapo. Anyway, then he told them he was a double agent, working for the Germans against the British. With that, the chap was taken to the nearest French café and bought a cognac, just as pretty as you please.
“Moral of the story? Stay calm, distract, and appear to cooperate.”
Alex trained his gaze on Anne. “Are you still with me, Anne? You seem far away… Perhaps in 1944?”
She jolted back to the present. “Yes… I’m here. “
“Ms. Billings, there’s no need to be alarmed in any way. No one is going to harm you. On the contrary, you’ll be treated with the utmost respect and professionalism. I personally guarantee it. Now, I know you’ve been through hell and back. I understand that, and we will see that you are cared for in every way. If you need anything at all, just ask.”
Anne lowered her head, swiftly forming a plan. When she lifted her eyes, she’d regained her composure. “I want to return to my home, my true home in 1944.”
Alex smiled, pleased that she was coming around, admitting she had
time traveled. That was a good first step.
“Ms. Billings, it won’t do any good to return to England. That air raid, and the German bomb that exploded and brought you here, cannot be repeated. You can never go back to 1944. For whatever reason, fate has put you here in 2008 to live out the rest of your life. You can do more for the human race here and now. After we have completed our investigation, then, if you want to return to England to live, I’ll personally see to it.”
Anne was certain the investigation would take months, maybe years. She was not going to wait that long. And anyway, could she trust these people? Anything could happen. What if they decided it was too risky to release her out into the world to tell her story to scientists and reporters? It was more likely she’d be hidden away in some godforsaken part of the world and never heard from again.
Alex droned on, and she was tired of hearing his voice. “Your knowledge of the past, the people you met… could change our entire way of looking at history. By the way, did you tell Leon that you met Prime Minister Churchill and the legendary Alan Turing?”
Anne offered an enigmatic smile. “Yes… I met Prime Minister Churchill, and I knew Mr. Turing quite well.”
Alex’s face came alive, and his eyes swelled with brightness. “That’s remarkable. Just damned remarkable!”
Anne gulped down nerves. “Mr. Fogel…”
“Please call me Alex. We’re not so formal in this time.”
“All right then, Alex. If I agree to all this business, well… I’m not quite sure how to put it, but will I be paid?”
“If I get approval. Yes, of course.”
Anne wanted to sound convincing, and she was certain that if she asked for a lot of money, she would appear to be serious about cooperating. “Alex… since I can’t return to my true home, and since I’m in a strange and very foreign world, I would want a sizeable amount of money, and I think I would be worth it.”
Time Stranger Page 12
