Revolution in Time (Out of Time #10)

by Monique Martin

  “Then I suggest you stick with the musket.”

  “Have a lot of experience with them, do you?” Jack asked as he leaned the long rifle back against the wall.

  Victor ran his finger thoughtfully down the flat side of one of the bayonets. He seemed lost in a memory before smiling. “Un peu.”

  He picked up one of the muskets with a familiarity Jack envied, studied it like an old friend, or maybe an old enemy—with Renaud it was hard to tell the difference sometimes—then put it back in line with the others.

  He nodded toward the musket. “Stick with that. It is a terrible weapon. Heavy, slow, unreliable.”

  “You’re overselling it.”

  Victor made a sound that was strikingly like a laugh.

  “This,” he said, touching the blade of the bayonet again, “is the important part. Do not try to use it like a knife; the edges are dull. Strike forward. Thrust. You see the shape of the blade?”

  It wasn’t like a sword; it flared out into a triangular shape.

  “It pierces the body and the expanding width of the blade creates huge gaping wounds. Far worse than being shot, by most accounts.”

  Jack nodded. He’d seen his fair share of combat and the agonies that came along with it. “I’ll bet.”

  Victor arched an eyebrow. “Let us hope neither of us has the displeasure of finding out first hand, hmm?”

  It was as close to a kind word as Jack had heard Victor utter. Despite that, Jack knew he respected him. Respected him in that way all soldiers do with one another. It was hard-earned and something most civilians couldn’t understand. There were, however, notable exceptions, and one of them was standing in the doorway.

  Simon looked more himself than Jack thought he would. A clean shave and a shower had helped, but after what the man had been through he’d half expected him to appear at least somewhat fragile. The man standing in the doorway was anything but that. He was self-possessed and took in the room in that arrogant way Cross had.

  Jack saw Travers flinch under Cross’ scrutiny. Jack might not have shown it, but he shared Peter’s worry. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if Cross strode across the room and socked him right in the mouth. He could hardly blame him if he did.

  Renaud, seemingly unbothered by the fresh tension, walked casually over to the other side of the room near Travers. A slight nod of his head was the only acknowledgment of Cross’ arrival. That left Jack standing alone. He took in and then let out a deep breath, readying himself for whatever hell Cross wanted to unleash.

  Simon looked at him, his expression unreadable, and started toward him intently. Suddenly, Jack thought standing next to all of these weapons might not have been the wisest choice.

  Simon stopped in front of him, his chest rising and falling as he, too, took a deep breath. Then, much to Jack’s surprise and relief, he held out his hand.

  “Thank you,” Cross said.

  Jack took the offered hand. “I’m sorry—”

  Cross shook his head, dismissing whatever apology Jack was about to give and turned toward Travers.

  Travers’ expression mirrored Jack’s own feelings—confusion, relief—while Renaud looked mildly disappointed that there hadn’t been at least one punch thrown.

  Simon turned to look at the guns lining the wall and Jack walked over to join Renaud and Travers. He and the latter shared surprised but pleased expressions. They’d both expected Cross to blow up, at least a little.

  Renaud leaned against the wall and took a short stick and knife from his pocket and began to whittle. Little bits of wood shavings fell to the floor at his feet.

  Simon admired the weaponry in silence for a moment. Then slowly, purposefully, he walked over to their side of the room. His eyes fell on the stacks of papers and piles of coins and currency. If they interested him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he pulled out a chair and sat down.

  He looked at each man in turn, ending with Travers. “I want to thank each of you for everything you’ve done to protect Elizabeth and Charlotte.”

  “If there were—” Travers started but Cross held up a hand and he fell into silence.

  “If an easier path had presented itself, I’m sure you would have taken it.”

  Peter let out a breath. “Yes.”

  Cross leaned back in his chair. “I am … grateful.”

  Peter was so surprised he wasn’t sure how to respond at first. “You’re welcome.”

  “There is one thing I’m curious about,” Cross said. “How did they know … about Charlotte? I know you were told by Teddy. But how did … what’s his name?”

  “Hawkins,” Travers supplied. “Through similar means, I believe. Someone from the future perhaps, and then the actuaries worked the rest of it out.”

  Simon nodded. “That my daughter would, at some point in the future, bring about their downfall.”

  Travers frowned slightly. “I can’t reveal much about that, you understand. Knowledge of the future—”

  Simon nodded again and even offered a small understanding smile. “Of course.”

  Jack wasn’t sure what to make of it. This calm, cool and collected Simon wasn’t what he’d been expecting. It was almost more unnerving than exploding Simon.

  “And this Harding fellow—” Simon said, but was corrected by Travers.

  “Hawkins.”

  “Hawkins. He took over your position as director?”

  “Yes.”

  “And usurped your office, your control, everything? That must have been difficult.”

  Jack knew something was wrong now. Under the best of circumstances, Simon might have been mildly sympathetic to Travers’ plight, but these were far from the best of circumstances.

  Travers nodded and smiled gratefully at the acknowledgment. “Yes, it was. But we have bigger problems than my job.”

  Simon hmm’d slightly. “And I suppose Hawkins was the one who gave the order to …” Simon paused here, his stoicism cracking ever so slightly before he willfully shoved it back into place, “to kill Elizabeth and eliminate the problem Charlotte would become.”

  “Yes.”

  Simon nodded and hmm’d again. He was so calm. He was too calm.

  Cross looked around the room. “Where’s Fiske? I’d like to thank him as well.”

  Travers frowned in thought. “I’m not sure. Around somewhere.”

  Simon smiled and stood.

  “We should talk about what’s next,” Travers said. “Our work is far from finished.”

  “Yes,” Cross said. “It is far from finished.”

  “Perhaps we can talk a little—”

  “Later.”

  With that, he looked at both Jack and Renaud then walked out.

  Travers’ mouth nearly hung open at the abrupt exit.

  Jack walked over to the window and saw Simon start to cross the lawn toward the barn. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  Travers joined Jack at the window. “Where’s he going?”

  “To kill Hawkins.”

  Jack and Travers turned in unison to look at Renaud. He stopped whittling and nodded toward the breakfront. “He took the dagger.”

  “He—he can’t do that!” Travers spluttered.

  “It is what I would do,” Renaud said as he resumed whittling.

  Jack rushed out of the dining room and hurried outside.

  “Simon!”

  Cross ignored him.

  Jack ran across the grass and caught him by the arm. “I know what you want to do.”

  Simon pulled his arm from Jack’s grasp. “Then get out of my way.”

  Jack put himself between Simon and the barn. “You can’t.”

  Simon stopped and glared at Jack. “As long as that man is alive, my family is in danger.”

  “I know—”

  Simon started forward again, this time holding the knife up. “Then get out of my way.”

  Jack wouldn’t.

  Travers arrived.

  “You can’t do this. I w
on’t let you,” Travers said, bravely and a little stupidly.

  Cross looked down at Travers with a glare so fierce Travers nearly stepped back. “I am going to find Hawkins and cut out his heart.”

  Travers swallowed nervously but didn’t budge. “You can’t.”

  “Then give me a gun.”

  “You don’t understand. You—”

  Cross shoved Travers aside and started for the barn again.

  Travers regained his footing and called out after him. “If you do, you might as well kill Elizabeth while you’re at it.”

  Jack felt a shiver run down his spine as Simon turned back. There had been murder in his eyes before, but now ….

  Travers held his ground, mostly, under the power of Simon’s gaze. “You’ll undo everything we’ve done. Hawkins gave the order, yes, but he’s not alone in this.”

  Jack could see Simon trying to resist the logic of what Travers said.

  “And neither are you,” Jack said.

  “If you go there now,” Travers said, “they’ll know. It won’t be long before they figure the rest of it out. You might kill Hawkins, but you’ll give us away. You’ll throw away everything we’ve worked for. Everything a dozen people have risked their lives for. Everything you and Elizabeth have suffered would be for nothing.”

  “He’s right,” Jack said. “When this is over. I’ll help you kill him, but you can’t go there now.”

  Simon’s eyes shifted to Jack. They were starting to get through to him.

  Slowly, Travers walked over to him. “I understand how you feel. But we have to stop them the right way. The only way that will put an end to this once and for all.”

  Travers held out his hand, silently asking for the knife.

  Jack could see Simon’s logic warring with his anger as the need for vengeance pulsed alongside both. For a moment, Jack wasn’t sure which would win.

  Simon shifted his grip on the knife and Jack readied himself to take action. Simon raised his hand and then threw the knife down into the dirt so hard it nearly disappeared into the earth.

  He looked back up at Travers. “Then end it. Or I will.”

  He walked back toward the house. Travers bent down and, with some effort, yanked the knife out of the ground.

  They both watched Cross go back into the house.

  “That was troubling,” Travers said.

  Jack frowned. “Wait till he finds out just how we plan on ending it.”

  ~~~

  “Are you mad?” Simon demanded as he leaned forward onto his fists as they rested on top of the dining table. Elizabeth reached for his arm to try to calm him down.

  Since she’d woken up, the quiet, loving Simon had been replaced by raging, loving Simon. He wouldn’t tell her what happened, and she didn’t press, but whatever it was, he was still upset about it.

  Now, all of them were gathered in the dining room to learn what came next. Apparently, that meant missions back in time and Simon was … reluctant.

  “If you think I’m going to take Elizabeth back to revolutionary times, you’re insane.”

  Travers remained calm. “I understand your reservations.”

  Simon snorted. “Reservations?”

  Jack stepped in. “I know it’s a lot to ask considering everything you’ve been through. Asking you and your pregnant wife to travel back in time to stop an assassination sounds a little crazy.” He frowned then turned to Travers. “You know, it does sound crazy when I say it out loud like that.”

  “Be that as it may,” Travers said. “These are the cards we’ve been dealt.”

  Simon stood up straight. “Then you can play them without us.”

  “If only I could.” Travers sighed and laid his hands palms down on the table. “We are faced with a great crisis. Hawkins—”

  Simon’s hand twitched visibly at the name.

  “And the others,” Travers continued, “have already set their plan in motion, and I’m afraid it’s more complex than we’d feared. They intend on attacking three separate points in time simultaneously.”

  He picked up three large folders and laid them down one at a time as he ticked off the Council’s scheme. “1774, London. Writer, activist Thomas Paine has yet to come to America and has yet to pen Common Sense or The American Crisis. His words spur on a nation.

  “1776, New Jersey. Washington and his troops are freezing to death, starving. They take one last risk and win, against all odds, a small but extremely important victory at Trenton.”

  He held up the third folder. “1777, Paris. Benjamin Franklin, inventor, statesman, and diplomat, is attempting the impossible and trying to secure the help of the French monarch in a revolution against a monarchy. Without the weapons, men and money from the French, the war would surely have been lost.”

  He patted the stack of files. “Each of these moments in history is under siege. Each of these men plays important parts in history. And so, it seems, do we.”

  He looked at Simon. “The fate of this nation, of the world as we know it, of history itself, relies on us.”

  “No pressure,” Jack muttered.

  “No kidding,” Elizabeth agreed.

  “We must make sure each event occurs as it is meant to. If we fail in even one, the repercussions will be catastrophic. I realize I’m asking a great deal of you.” He smiled at Elizabeth. “Of you both. But if we fail, history as we know it will cease to be. You, all of us, in all likelihood, will cease to be.”

  Elizabeth felt a shiver. She reached over and took hold of Simon’s hand. He looked haunted. He shook his head.

  “There must be someone else who can go,” Simon asked quietly.

  “The people in this room,” Travers said, “are history’s last line of defense. Like it or not, we’re it.”

  “I can help,” Teddy volunteered.

  Travers looked at him kindly. “And you will. All of us will, I’m afraid. The stakes are too high to leave anything to chance, and so each team will be comprised of two people.”

  “I work alone,” Victor said.

  “Usually, yes.”

  “Always.”

  Travers wasn’t intimidated, although, from the look in Victor’s eyes, he probably should have been.

  “These are exceptional circumstances. All of us will travel in pairs. I will go with you.”

  “Like hell you will.”

  Travers looked almost annoyed. “If you should die, all of our plans fail. You are a talented operative, but this is not a request. Each team will be comprised of two members. I’m well versed in French history. You’re French.”

  “Your observational skills are keen at least,” Victor sniped.

  Travers wasn’t put off. “I will work with you to make sure Doctor Franklin achieves success in Paris. While the Crosses travel to London to make sure Thomas Paine gets his letter of recommendation.”

  “Ridiculous,” Simon said.

  “Happily, there’s no war there at the time—”

  “Just pestilence. The whole city is rife with smallpox—”

  “You were both vaccinated nearly two years ago,” Travers reminded him.

  Simon frowned as he realized Travers was right. “Nonetheless—”

  “We’ll go,” Elizabeth said.

  She felt sick. She wasn’t just risking her life, but Charlotte’s. But there was no choice, really. If they didn’t go, Charlotte and the rest of them might never be.

  Simon started to argue with her, but she pressed on.

  “I know you’re worried. I’m kind of freaking out a little, too, but we have to do this. You know we do.”

  Simon clenched his jaw to keep his emotions from getting the better of him again. She squeezed his hand. He stared down at her for a long moment then sighed heavily and sat down next to her.

  Travers continued, “Jack, I think with your combat experience, you’re best suited to be with Washington and his troops at Trenton.”

  Jack nodded thoughtfully.

  “I guess
that means you’re stuck with me,” Teddy said softly.

  Jack grinned. “Hey, if we were picking, I’d take you over the lot.”

  Victor snorted.

  “He’s the smartest one here. No offense,” he added as he looked at Simon. “And what he lacks for in brute strength, I more than make up for with charm and good looks.”

  Victor rolled his eyes, but Teddy beamed.

  Jack walked over to stand by Teddy’s chair.

  “Thank you,” Travers said and then looked around the table at each of them. “Thank you all. And may God help us.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “GOOD LORD,” SIMON SAID as the two of them went over the wardrobes that had been provided for them. Clothes and accessories were laid out over the bed and chairs.

  Using the end of a wooden comb he picked up a curly white gentleman’s wig. He held it out in front him like roadkill he’d just pried off the street.

  Elizabeth laughed. “You think that’s bad?”

  She picked up the corset that had been supplied for her. “Designed to grow with my growing figure.”

  “A maternity corset? Is there really such a thing?”

  Elizabeth glared at the offending garment. “Apparently. But on behalf of women and their intestines everywhere, I’m going to pass. It might not be kosher, but I’m going commando this time.”

  Simon managed a laugh. It had been a long time since she’d heard that sound. It was still faint by comparison to his usual, but any sign of the old Simon was welcome.

  He dropped his wig into a pitcher on the dresser. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  Elizabeth grinned and tossed her corset aside. She crossed the bedroom to stand in front of him and reached up to touch his hair. He’d been in need of a cut when they’d traveled to the cabin. The ends were just beginning to curl. She combed her fingers through it and gathered the small loose ends at the nape of his neck.

  “You can probably get away with a ponytail.”

  He didn’t look too overjoyed at the prospect, but put his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. Gazing down into her eyes, they both forgot about his hairstyle.