by David Hunter
~ ~ ~
If Jeff wasn't 100% successful, all was lost.
Now that the terrorist group had unleashed their plagues, Israel retaliated with her full nuclear might. This final act of defiance before she ceased to exist, coupled with the atomic warheads already launched by three other nuclear powers, would had the effect of speedily drawing an ever-growing circle of countries into the conflagration. Wars of annihilation spread from country to country - India and Pakistan delivering atomic hell to one another.
An increased number of countries in the Americas and Europe saw their populations in their capitals and other key cities cut down by the terrorists' biological weapons, destroying critical infrastructures. Not knowing the origin of these attacks they turned their militaries on their enemies, real and imagined.
One by one countries thus attacked launched their own offensives, larger countries activating nuclear arsenals from land and sea, bringing the entire world into the inferno of an extinction level event.
Table of Contents
30. Past Revisited
"And he stretched forth his hand to slay Ammon. But Ammon withstood his blows, and also smote his arm that he could not use it." - Book of Mormon, Alma 20:20
Suburb Of Northwest Tehran, Persia - 1936
Zaferanieh district, in the north-western part of Tehran, was just like old photos showed it to be - only in color. Jeff relished the colorful sights, smells, and sounds of this venerable part of the city bustling and swelling with an influx of people mass migrating here from all over the country. All the while he was mindful of catastrophic events happening in his own time, a yet future time he hoped to reshape.
Having landed once before, Stauffenberg was slightly surprised at how different this time seemed. Instant immersion in a culture and language unknown to him accounted for that. He felt unprepared, having landed days ahead of schedule. But he knew he was as prepared as he could possibly be. The extra days would not have made much, if any, of a difference.
As expected, many residents of the city spoke English – at least sufficiently basic English that he could understand and be understood, though hand gestures were also required at times.
The first order of business was to secure boarding. He was directed to an excellent hotel, clean and comfortable with reasonable rates and plenty of places to eat with them in easy walking distance. Checking into the hotel he carried his bags and pharmacy satchel up to his room. The woman who checked him in was friendly and seemed to love everything western, even dressing in similar style.
The world was in an economic struggle with the Great Depression holding a firm grip that would not fully be released until the Second World War. While the financial crisis deeply hit Persia, the receptionist seemed to take no note of it. Or perhaps she dressed for success. It was more likely that she dressed with the hopes of snagging a Western husband as most of the guests in the hotel were European or North American.
Movies from Hollywood were all the rage locally, this young lady decked-out in what must be the latest Hollywood Starlet fashion. Jeff noticed the marquee of a movie house advertising the 1927 'talkie hit,' "The Jazz Singer." Almost nine years old, the movie must have resounded with its audience to still be playing. Or it was just as possible that the movie house could not afford the purchase of another 'talkie.' Converting their equipment from strictly silent movies to these new-fangled talkies would have been incredibly expensive, only to have the financial Depression move in after such an investment. It was surprising that the movie house was still operating. Maybe not, after all. In difficult times such as these people still needed diversion from their everyday lives. A large, free-standing radio in most every home now, offered some entertainment, but not the social experience that going to the theater or a movie provided, especially for the twenty-something crowd.
That's it! The check-in girl reminded Jeff of somebody but he couldn't place who until just now, thinking of the dawn of the golden-era of movie stars and talking pictures. She could have been Mary Astor's olive-skinned twin. The resemblance, now that he recognized at, was amazing. When he returned to his own time he'd have to pull up an Internet image of the playbill for "Don Juan" to be sure. Mary was now a matinee idol, many young women did their best to dress and talk like her, not to mention emulating her hair style so popular at the time.
The open balcony door on the other side of his room let in a cooling breeze. Jeff walked to the door, stepping onto the small balcony surrounded by a waist-high work of beautifully hand-crafted wrought iron.
Watching people mill about on the streets below he found it somewhat difficult to reconcile this era with the Iran of his time. Women dressed in western clothing, though generally much more modest than their American and European sisters, would never be tolerated by their future countrymen – and women. More amazingly, men and women mingled without any appearance of gender separation. The saying, "The more things change, the more they stay the same" was definitely not applicable here.
Laying down to rest, hoping to get in a brief nap, Jeff collected his thoughts and organized them. Knowing time was already against him, he knew to proceed without the rest his body and mind required would put the mission in jeopardy.
The missions ahead of him were actually quite simple in most respects. At least they were from a technical perspective.
In the current reality the grandmother of Abd would be a young girl, not even a woman who would have had the chance to experience most of her life.
How Jeff was to keep her from meeting her future husband was up to him and whichever opportunities presented themselves at the time.
Jeff became conscious of the fact that though he knew their names he never addressed them by name in his thoughts. Already overwhelmed by dread and even guilt from acts not yet committed, he realized that by not using their names he was, in his own way, dehumanizing them to make his task of radically altering their lives more palatable. This acknowledgment intensified his shame, but he still could not bring himself to think of their names as his memory brought back their solemn faces immortalized in the photos of so long ago.
He asked why somebody else from The Project couldn't be sent back, why it had to be him. The response was, in retrospect, obvious. All other members of The Project were Jews. Though they could physically pass easily for Persians, nobody spoke Farsi and they all had accents that would not be recognizable in Persia which would undoubtedly raise questions.
"Was there no Israeli who could speak Farsi?" Surely, he knew, there had to be hundreds, if not thousands.
"Yes, certainly. A search for an alternative candidate had already been exhausted, right from the beginning. Given your hesitation, with the potential risk that alone presented, the files were hauled out and a second review was conducted. Jeff, the simple fact is that you have the training already. You are an American with complete "Gentile" appearance and mannerisms. You don't need to learn English or fake an American accent. That alone opens doors for you. Beyond that, even if we could bring somebody else in, it's just too late to start all of the mental and physical training that you have already been through. The irony in all of this is that we no longer have time on our side."
Rachael's argument against sending somebody in his place was absolutely logical, certainly there was no time to train somebody else in everything that was needed; especially psychological preparation for time travel. Jeff had over a year of preparation before landing in the Civil War. Such training and preparation couldn't be condensed into mere days.
Hearing of his ongoing concerns and desire to be replaced Moshe also told him that the device for the Einstein-Rosen bridge used on his end was encoded specifically to his physiology. There wasn't time to reconfigure a device for an alternate traveler.
A song from an opera he didn't recognize arose from the beautiful old phonograph cabinet built with Edison Cement in the lobby. At first he thought it was an elegant statue until music coming from a large seashell behind a human figure alerted him
to the fact that this was a vintage, no – only about 20 years old in this time frame – phonograph made in the first decade of the 20th century.
