Fortune

by Craig W. Turner

She laughed. “I don’t think either sounds particularly easy. We’re not armored car robbers.”

  “I don’t know. I have some experience. I’ve robbed a wagon and a known bank robber. And I punched out a decorated British officer.”

  “None of them were holding an automatic weapon, though, with the responsibility of keeping someone like you from stealing their armored car. And none of them were surrounded by similar individuals with similar responsibilities.”

  He looked offended. “Someone like me? That hurts, Erica.”

  She stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “You’re too much.”

  He was grinning.

  “We can talk about this more later. Right now, you owe me a dinner,” she said. “I’ve been in three different years and a hurricane in these clothes. I’m in New York. I’m going to go shopping and get something nice to wear, then I’m going to take a hot shower. I assume you’ll do something along those lines, as well.”

  He nodded. “Do you need money? I have cash.”

  “Good point. My credit cards won’t work.”

  He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small stack of bills, peeling off several and handing them to her. “Last chance to use it,” he said.

  She laughed, then took it and looked – he’d given her $1,000 worth of hundreds. “Wow,” she said.

  “I told you – time travel experiments aren’t cheap. Get some clothes for tomorrow, too.” He was smiling warmly, so she nodded, turned, and headed for the door. Then she headed for 5th Avenue.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Jeff had been watching the elevator doors from his vantage point at the bar, though with people constantly arriving and exiting, it was hard to maintain a line of sight. In addition, the room was darkly lit with a midnight blue glow, so to trust his eyesight alone would’ve been presumptuous.

  Still, when Erica emerged from the elevator in a sleek burgundy evening gown that hung off of her left shoulder, there was no mistaking her. He watched as she took in the atmosphere, scanning the room for him in accordance with the note he’d left her to meet him in the restaurant lounge on the hotel’s top floor. She was stunning – most likely made even more so by the fact that he’d only seen her in what he’d been referring to in his thinking as her historian’s uniform. Besides the 1830s commoner garb, of course, which was no one’s fantasy.

  She was definitely several inches taller, evidence that she’d spent some of her walking-around money at the shoe store, and the usual pony tail was gone, her hair pinned up on her head, giving a completely different perspective of what was a pretty wonderful neck. It had been a long time since Jeff had taken specific interest in a woman, and he found it a little amazing that he was in this state of mind. Of course, there was the action adventure they’d become involved in and the restaurant was pretty cozy, so there were scientific reasons for his current feelings. But watching her as she scanned the room, he knew this was beyond science.

  After a few moments of searching, she spotted him and made her way across the floor and down the length of the bar toward him. He thought about all of the love songs describing how every guy stops and turns his head to watch the beautiful woman walk across the room, but as he glanced around, he saw that everyone was pretty much absorbed in their own little worlds. It made him wonder how they could be missing this. But then again, without them seeing her sitting in her office researching early America or hearing her listing off the names of people who lived two hundred years ago, they wouldn’t be able to comprehend the dramatic transformation that he was witnessing. It’d be lost on them.

  She arrived next to him and gracefully slid herself onto the stool that he’d been saving for her. “I see you found the place,” he said, smiling.

  Nodding, she said, “I did. Pretty swank.”

  “They said downstairs they had the best steaks in 40 blocks. Probably a lot of steakhouses in that area, so that’s a pretty good testament – even if it is a self-serving recommendation. You look beautiful.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. You look pretty dapper yourself.”

  He’d hoped he did. He didn’t dress to go out on the town often. In general, unless he was making a presentation to the folks from the government, he was in his typical jeans and button-down. But he always envisioned himself someday being kind of classy – like when he would settle down and have a wife. They’d have “date nights,” and he’d get a little dressed up and give more than a passing glance to making his hair behave. When he pictured himself, he was always wearing dress jeans with a black crew neck shirt and a houndstooth sport coat. Which is why that’s exactly what he’d grabbed when he’d had his own little shopping trip that afternoon. He’d picked out some sharp black monkstraps to complement his look, but they were a little stiff right out of the box and his feet weren’t entirely comfortable. Though that was easy to ignore given his company. “Thanks for that,” he said, grabbing his lapel. “As you can imagine, I don’t do this often, so... I tried. The girl at the store said I looked pretty ‘jag’ while I was trying this stuff on. I’m assuming that’s good.”

  “I’d agree,” she said, smiling. “You look pretty jag.”

  “What would you like to drink?” he asked. “It’ll be a couple minutes more for the table.”

  She asked what he was drinking, looking at his glass of red. He told her Syrah, then on her request ordered her one of the same. The bartender brought it a moment later. “Sorry it’s not eighty years old.”

  She laughed, then held the glass up. “What shall we toast to?”

  “How about to the end of paper currency?” He picked up his own glass.

  “Nothing more personal than that?”

  “You have something in mind?”

  She thought for a moment, then raised her glass higher. “How about to responsibility in the face of great power?”

  He wasn’t sure where she was going with that, but didn’t want to risk an ill-timed question that could ruin a good night, so he nodded and clinked glasses with her. They both took a sip.

  “Wow, this is really wonderful,” she said. “Better not like it too much, though. We have a big day tomorrow.”

  “That we do. How was your shopping trip?”

  She took another sip, letting the wine linger in her mouth, then set her glass down. “It was good. I enjoyed it. I’m astounded, though – there really doesn’t seem to be too much that has changed in seven years. People seem the same. The technology is a little more advanced with the biometrics and what-not, but nothing that’s really blowing my mind. When I went into the stores, the fashions weren’t even all that different – in fact, there was almost a retro feel. Like a, I don’t know, throwback to Y2K?”

  “Were you expecting more?”

  “Wasn’t really thinking about it, but I guess in the end, yes, I was.” She took another sip of wine, then laughed. “It’s definitely anti-climactic.”

  “You had enough cash to cover?”

  “Yes – more than enough. I actually got myself some pajamas, too, since future Jeff only reserves one hotel room for the two of us.”

  He laughed. He hadn’t thought of that. Seeing her now as a woman and not simply a member of his team, it was clearer that two rooms was probably the way he should’ve gone. Strangely, he didn’t find himself jumping to offer that now, though. With the event tomorrow, there would be no vacancy anyway. Instead, he said, “Something nice, I hope.”

  “Nice enough for me to get a good night’s sleep and then rob an armored car in the morning.” She smiled.

  He laughed again. The conversation was going well. He felt like they’d recovered from the toast. A minute later, the host approached them with news that their table was ready, so they picked up their wine glasses and followed him. What Erica didn’t know was that Jeff wanted to push the evening over the top as “one to remember,” and had secured a table on the window facing the southeast. As they sat, the bright beacon of the Empire State Building filled their view with a bright cre
scent moon about 45 degrees above it. Jeff was pleased with himself for the table and the view, but admittedly he couldn’t take credit for the moon.

  “Nice view,” she said after they were seated. “Did you set this up?”

  He nodded.

  “Is this for you or for me?”

  Smiling, he said, “Both of us. If it’s going to be a special night, I say let’s make it a special night.”

  They picked up their menus and delved into them – that awkward several minutes on a date when you feel like you should be carrying on the conversation, but instead the dialogue minimizes itself to trade-offs of “Oh, the duck looks good” and “Do you want to split an appetizer?” Jeff was trying not to be too obvious about wanting to look at Erica instead of his menu, but ultimately he had to decide on something to eat. He did take a moment, though, to encourage her to get whatever she wanted.

  She closed her menu first, so he looked up. “You decided?”

  “I did,” she said. “Since you said I have a blank slate, I’m getting the French onion soup, the Caesar salad looks good, though probably without the white anchovies... Ick... and the crab cakes.”

  “No steak?”

  “I’m from San Francisco – I’m not really a steak girl,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll try a piece of yours if you get one, though.”

  “Given the testimonial, I think I don’t have a choice.” He closed his menu, cuing the waiter to come take their order. Jeff watched Erica while she placed her order, and then made his own request, ordering a 20-ounce rib eye with a comment about having to bulk up for their big mission the next day. Jeff also ordered lobster bisque and a bottle of future-vinted Cabernet, then the waiter left, promising a quick return.

  Erica was looking out the window at the skyline, so Jeff took a sip of his wine, allowing her the moment of reflection. A flurry of thoughts entered his mind as to how to start a conversation with her. He didn’t want to be so crass as to spend their dinner talking about what they needed to accomplish the next day – it seemed that’s all they’d really ever talked about. What was the next mission? What were the repercussions of what they were doing? In truth, he still didn’t know too much about her, but for some reason felt strange – after everything they’d already been through – making this a “get to know each other” event. They’d been virtually inseparable the last... What?... Thirty-six hours? He’d completely lost track of real time. But it seemed awkward to start off with the standard first date interview. ‘So, what are your hobbies?’ Didn’t seem like a conversation she’d respond to.

  Luckily, she started, because he in no way felt prepared or willing to do so. “You were going to tell me about the coordinates for the time device and how they worked,” she said, revisiting the conversation they’d started just before heading out into the hurricane three years into the future.

  He let out a sigh, which she caught.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  He laughed. “I’m glad you said something. I wasn’t sure what to say. We’ve never really sat and talked. At least not without me unveiling to you the history of your life.”

  She was game. “Does it make you nervous? Sitting here having to talk?”

  “I’m not used to it. I’ve been so enveloped in my work the past couple years that there were very few casual conversations.”

  “Not even with Dexter?”

  He thought for a moment. “No. Really, no. I can’t think of a conversation we’ve had any time recently that wasn’t about the job.”

  “Strange that you could become such good friends without that.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” he said, nodding. “But it’s not like we didn’t have a friendship. There was enough going on within the work that helped us to build it, you know? He taught me about wine. That’s something I’ve appreciated. We did go to a Giants game last year. But I think we talked about Joe Wilton the whole time. I don’t know – it is what it is, I guess. But to answer your question, no, this kind of conversation doesn’t make me nervous, but it’s certainly not something I’m able to jump right into.”

  “I’m okay if we talk about work,” she said. “If anything, sitting here making small talk doesn’t do anything to prepare us for tomorrow.”

  He winced. “Yeah, but that’s not what I want.”

  “No?” She sipped her wine and he noticed it was gone. A moment later, the waiter returned with their new bottle and poured them each a glass.

  “I don’t know. It’s such a beautiful evening. You look so great. I dressed up. We’re here enjoying dinner in a way that no one else on the planet can. Do we really want to talk about work? I mean – look at that moon.”

  She laughed and took a peek out the window at the moon, then tested her new wine. Jeff thought about toasting the new bottle, but wasn’t sure where she’d go with it, so he let it go. “Oh, this is good,” she said, placing her glass back on the table. “I’d better slow down or I’m not going to have any trouble talking about anything.”

  “Well, maybe that’ll help me,” he said, tasting the wine himself. It was very good. As much as Dexter had taught him about enjoying wine, though, he couldn’t tell why it was very good. It just was.

  “So maybe we talk about the work stuff and it’ll open up other conversations.”

  He noticed that she wasn’t engaging in the small talk herself, and he wondered if it was because she shared his thoughts on what the evening should actually mean, or if she just didn’t care. Those were two very distinct points of view. “Alright, you asked about the coordinates. I can start there.”

  The waiter brought their soups and they dug in, comparing their reactions. Jeff offered her a scoop of his bisque, which she took, agreeing with his positive assessment. She reciprocated, but he declined until she forced him to taste some.

  “For future reference, when a woman offers you a bite of her food, you try it.”

  “Is that true?” he asked, laughing. “Guess I need some practice. I was just concerned that those onions they used to make it haven’t even been planted where we come from.”

  “Clever,” she said. “Tell me about the coordinates.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, now feeling confident that they’d made it over the hump in the conversation. “It doesn’t work the way that you’d expect. You’re not speeding up or slowing down time, so it doesn’t matter where you’re coming from. What we’re doing is pinpointing a precise moment in history – or the future – and going directly to it. The coordinates direct the device to take you to that moment.”

  “Well, yeah. That’s exactly what I thought. That you were jumping from one location to another.”

  “It seems logical, doesn’t it? But that’s not how it works. What we’re doing is turning ourselves, or anything else passing through time, into light. Once that happens, it doesn’t matter where you came from. It only matters where you’re going.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” she said. “And this is all based on Einstein’s theory of relativity?”

  “To some degree, yes. Einstein believed that if an object – let’s say a person – were to reach the speed of light, they would find themselves trapped in a state of timelessness.”

  “Timelessness?”

  “Yes, no time at all.”

  “But time is a product of our planet. Twenty-four hours to rotate, 365 and a quarter days to revolve...”

  “We’re talking about the universe here, though. How very antediluvian of you to think that the Earth is the center of the universe.”

  She smiled. “Point taken,” she said. It was a cute smile, so he awarded himself a couple extra points on the “how is the date going?” scorecard.

  “What my device does is bring you back from that timelessness.”

  “How did you end up, then, being so precise when you were running your experiment with the diamonds?”

  “Luck. Pure unadulterated luck.”

  “That seems far-fetched.”

  “We
ll, yes, but there’s a reasonable explanation. I was working with such minute changes in my coordinates that it would stand to reason that there wouldn’t be much difference in the ‘universes’ that were being created. You saw the numbers I wrote on my arm? They were what? Thirty-five, forty decimal places? When I started, I was working 250 decimal places in. Ended up only being a matter of minutes.”

  She was stirring her soup, clearly thinking about the next thing she would say, which tipped him off that it was going to be deep. Finally, she scooped out a spoonful, blew lightly on it, and sipped it up. Then she said, “So let me go back to a question I asked you a couple days ago...” She laughed. “Or, a hundred years ago, I don’t remember. Anyway, you gave me a fake answer – I could tell. You create this world-changing technology that will redefine everything we know about the universe, and your first inclination is to go back and steal things. Why?”

  Still not an easy question, but not as bad as he’d imagined. “Actually, that wasn’t my first inclination. My first thoughts when I realized what was possible were right up your alley – the ability to use the device to develop a greater understanding of history. You have to imagine where my thinking was at the time. There were so many directions to take, from practical things like going back in the past to stop something bad that had happened, to the stuff you see in science fiction movies. I even thought about the concept of time tourism – like, you know how some rich people have reserved seats on the first flight to Mars? That kind of thing. But then, something happened.”

  “What’s that?” She was listening intently.

  “I was worried about running out of money.”

  She snickered. “Honestly?”

  “As it turns out, creating technology that will change everything we know about the universe is a very expensive proposition. Especially when you’re also financing a facade program that’s equally as expensive. Anyway, when I started looking for new ways to finance a secret operation, the idea came to me. The perfect crime is one where you can’t be prosecuted, isn’t it?”