Apart from all those reasons, he couldn’t dismiss her essence that seemed to linger on his mind. Despite valiant attempts to block out unnecessary thoughts of Kate, he failed miserably.
It was odd to find himself in such a philosophical mood. Maybe it was because this was his last trip to 1939, a time period of which he had become particularly fond. Maybe it was because he would become 40 in October.
In 1939, life was a bit simpler. He had to admit, he had flirted with the notion of staying there. What the hell. His family was gone. No wife or children needed him. Money, he had plenty of it. And as he watched the century barrel toward the 2000-year mark, he wasn’t sure he wanted to witness the escalating nuclear war threats, drug and crime problems, the over exposure of people’s personal lives. It was odd, lately he had seemed to notice it more frequently. A certain superficiality in people, a casualness of the human spirit that bothered him. Old Hollywood certainly wasn’t a saintly place, but compared to today, there had been a certain sense of adventure, fun and hope.
He was getting far too idealistic, he knew it. But lately he searched for answers for purpose in his life that had been magically fragmented by his travels in time.
Sipping the flavorful red wine, Jack knew he had better lasso his brain. He had more important things to ponder. This last retrieval had to take place without a hitch. However, he reasoned with himself, maybe when he returned, when it was all over, he could think of Kate again.
* * *
Sunshine streaming through her bedroom window the following morning, Kate awoke with a pounding headache. A sigh of frustration escaped her. Her mind made a noble attempt to slowly click into motion. The memories returned. Her exhausted brain felt like it had lived a lifetime, in the minuscule time of 24-hours. She allowed herself to dwell on the riveting news of her real father, the heartthrob rogue of the ‘30s and ‘40s. A slow smile of pride touched her unmade-up face. Now she understood where she got the rabble-rouser in her soul. Amazing thing, genetics. However, the frustration associated with Sherman’s unaccountability and lies still bugged her. He was so certain she would pack up and go away. No chance.
The ringing of the phone distracted Kate, bringing her out of her reflections. She threw back her covers and went to her dresser to pick up the portable phone. “Yes,” she nearly growled, her headache increasing.
“Kate? It’s Laura.”
“Oh, my God. I’m so glad it’s you. I . . .”
Laura’s warm laughter filled the phone lines. “So I gathered. Listen, I’m running out to the airport, but wanted to confirm for tonight. I can’t wait to hear everything.”
“Oh, Laura,” Kate cut in, “It’s been insane. I have to . . .”
“Don’t tell me anything now. If we get started, I’ll never make my plane.”
Just hearing Laura’s voice was a tremendous relief for Kate. “I know, I know, but . . .” Kate’s voice faded as she reached to touch her pounding forehead.
“Katie, you sound . . .” Laura paused, concerned. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I don’t have more time.”
“No, it’s okay. It can wait until tonight. Just prepare yourself.”
“Not fair.” Laura brightened, teasing Kate. “So much intrigue.”
“We passed intrigue a long time ago,” Kate remarked.
Laura’s silence told Kate her friend was both impatient to conclude the call and anxious for her friend. “Listen Katie, it’s great that you know who your dad is. Chin up!”
“Yes. Yes, I know. But it’s so much more complicated. I don’t know where to . . .”
“The shuttle is here. I’ve got to run. See you tonight at 7:30.” The phone clicked off and the call ended.
“Great,” Kate grumbled in frustration as she put down the phone. She hated waiting, and right now she had no choice.
CHAPTER V
The computer hummed to life as Kate reached to insert one of her favorite tapes, Barry Manilow’s “Singin’ With the Big Bands.” It seemed appropriate, considering recent events in her life. Kate had also consumed a large glass of water with two aspirin chasers, a large cup of coffee, and now she had returned to the living. Her diet had much to be desired in the last 24-hours, but more pressing things to be considered. In the last few hours she had managed to clear her desk of the most pressing items of her work on the website and now turned her attention to get some of those answers that Sherman had avoided yesterday. Determined, she went to the one area she knew best, the internet.
In minutes, she sat staring at the words, “The Philadelphia Experiment,” in bold print across the computer screen. Her knowledge of the term was limited to the film of the 1980’s, which she had never seen. Haphazardly, she reached for a notepad and began to make a list: video rentals, Philadelphia Experiment, The Array, Tyme Studios, check it out, and lastly, Errol Flynn. That was a start. She tilted her head to the right, thinking, her pen suspended over the pad. She realized there was one more name that belonged there—Jack Baldwin. She scribbled it quickly, attempting to lessen its significance. She was a terrible liar, she knew it. But for the moment it was the only way to keep her sanity. Because when it came to Jack Baldwin, she didn’t know which was more shocking, the discovery of the tape or seeing him again after all these years and being so . . . well, she just wouldn’t go there. Absolutely not. After all, she wasn’t stupid and she certainly didn’t need a distraction like that now . . . or ever. “Right,” she said to herself. “Onward,” she added, making a noble attempt at focusing on the screen in front of her.
Kate began to read about the fabled Philadelphia Experiment and found herself immersed in only what she could describe as a sci-fi maze. Initially, it had all begun with the U.S. government’s desire to attempt to create invisibility for their warships during World War II. The main experiment had taken place in 1943 at the Philadelphia naval yard. It involved a ship called the USS Elderidge. The project, though termed successful in its invisibility attempts, paid a high price for the effects on the men involved. Kate shuttered at the descriptions of the crew, their after-effects of the invisibility. Many experienced a deranged state that caused insanity, as well as intense degrees of hysteria. The worst was a horrifying description of
the men who returned to visibility embedded in the deck of the warship.
Appalled, Kate read on. She found other notations of the project in 1946, as well as a continuation of the same project under a new name, the Montauk Project of the 1950’s.
As consumed as Kate was with these tales of time travel, teleportation, anti-gravity and other mysteries of alternative energy, she never found even a passing reference to Howard Hughes’ involvement. However, recalling her mother’s words of his final demise, this just confirmed Kate’s suspicions. Her mother had been right all along. What Kate did uncover was that teams had been assembled across the country to complete parts of this experiment. Putting two and two together, she began to research old Navy records, looking for Sherman Avery or anyone on his team. She quickly came to the realization that she could have used a computer wizard as this proved to be very challenging as certain records no longer existed. It appeared that no one had been a major name player in the experiment. At least no one was recorded as such. Soldiering on, despite the near impossibility of verification, eventually she found Sherman Avery. The others, at this time, eluded her. Her records indicated his participation in a special war project, but it did not say exactly what he did. At this point, Kate realized she didn’t need that. It was apparently clear her instincts were correct. Somehow they had pooled all their various knowledge, but to do what? Apparently the transfer system had clearly been perfected.
Technically, her mother and she were proof enough, which brought Kate back to the matter of The Array. Checking the internet for information linking The Array and Tyme Studios, she came up empty. It was impossible to find links. But most disappointing, there was absolutely nothing on
the internet about anything called The Array.
Exhausted and running thin on patience, Kate tried on last website entitled, “Sci-Fi Hollywood.” She figured nothing could be more bizarre than some of the stuff she had just read. She was quickly proved wrong. Kate came to the swift conclusion that there were far too many twisted minds on the internet. Alternating between chuckling over their silliness and shaking her head in disbelief, it was finally the second to last heading on the main menu that eventually caught her attention. It read, “The Silver Screen: Fact or Fiction.” She pulled up the web page and her pulse jump started. Excitement gripped her as words like time travel, Hollywood myth, secret group, stolen manuscripts, in past produced in present. A list of alleged members alluded to both living and dead movie moguls and legends.
“Oh, my God,” Kate said out loud. Could this be what they were doing? Were they actually traveling back in time and stealing work? It was so incredible, so fantastic. No wonder it fell into the category of myth. Naturally not a drop of evidence existed . . . yet, was the key word.
Kate leaned back in her chair staring blankly at the computer screen. Her mind, that was nearly at maximum capacity of unbelievability, just moved up a notch. This had to be it. This couldn’t be a coincidence. It was too close to helping her fill in the gaps. At this point, there was no question, they were obviously still at it.
However, the bigger question remained. What was the site location where all this took place? She started thinking about Tyme Studios and the success that carried them through major studio changes, transitions, mergers and takeovers that had plagued the industry since the ‘50s. She realized that Tyme Studios had never wavered from their stronghold and reputation of quality films. Nor did they even lose power when in the 1980’s the Japanese had cast a wealthy buying eye at Hollywood investment. How could she have missed it? It was all there in black and white, she just hadn’t put
on the right glasses. “So now what, Sherlock?” Kate muttered to herself.
“Elementary, my dear,” she replied, rolling her eyes. Best not put off to tomorrow what one can do today. Round two with Uncle Sherman beckoned.
* * *
The deadline for the LA Magazine layout was in two days. Hawk knew it, but he was having trouble concentrating. Hawk stood in the back office of Laura Kane’s shop, going over details for the shoot with Laura’s assistant Sherry, a far too perky, blue-eyed blonde that was shooting details and ideas at him faster than he could make notes. Somehow he managed to focus. He calculated two hours, 8:00 A.M., tomorrow. The layout, lighting, theme, details and more details. Laura was always organized and very clear on exactly how she wanted the presentation. Hawk made more notes. He considered it token work, really. Bread and butter for him. However, the connection with Laura Kane had been a lucky one. He had Tango to thank, who had connected them more than three years ago.
Laura was returning on a flight later that day with all the merchandise. He had promised everything would be set and ready. They would make the deadline, but just barely.
Finally, Sherry seemed satisfied that they were in agreement with all of Laura’s wishes.
Telling Sherry he would be there at 8:00 A.M. sharp, mission accomplished. Hawk walked out into the dry, hot, windy afternoon. The Santa Ana winds were kicking up again. He strode to his black dented Jeep, jerked the door open and dropped his carry-on bag on the seat beside him. The engine quickly revved to life as he set a course for Beverly Hills. He definitely had more hunting to do.
Hawk had hardly slept the previous night. He and Tango had talked long into the night. Even after his friend had left, sleep had eluded him in his anticipation that he was going to crack the Hollywood myth of the Silver Screen. The fantasies of fame and fortune that accompany these thoughts were riveting. The cover of People Magazine, the guest shots on all the talk shows, all that money. He was ready to do whatever it
took, because this was going to be the Godzilla of Hollywood scandal.
The traffic thickened as he approached the Wilshire area of Beverly Hills. It was stop and go as he drew closer to Rodeo Drive. A metallic ice-blue BMW, the Bond car, suddenly cut in front of his Jeep, momentarily distracting him. The driver was a stunning auburn haired woman. Her long hair went wild
in the wind as she gunned the engine, impatient with the slow traffic.
Unexpectedly, she cut quickly across the lanes and zoomed forward to the entrance of the Regent Beverly Wilshire Hotel. So distracted, Hawk nearly ran into the car in front of him, his tires screeching in an abrupt stop. The sound made the girl, who was getting out of the BMW, look at him. For the barest seconds she glared at him with green eyes he knew he would never forget.
Just as quickly, she slipped on her sunglasses and disappeared into the hotel lobby.
Hawk’s heartbeat took a little longer to slow down. He decided to circle the block and turned right on the street that bordered the hotel. The traffic instantly thinned as he moved into a residential area known as the Beverly Hills Flats. It was then that he saw the older, blonde haired man, the Swedish scientist Tango called Carl. He blinked in surprise and slowed the Jeep, watching intently. Clearly, it was his home as he put a key in the door and quickly entered.
Curious and pensive, Hawk drove to the end of the block, turned right and then right again heading back toward Wilshire Boulevard. As Hawk muddled over the strange coincidence, just ahead of him two men got out of a champagne colored Mercedes.
Hawk squinted, they looked familiar. He slowed down attempting to park his Jeep to get a closer look, then they turned and he instantly recognized them. They were the other two men he had seen talking with Sherman Avery in the lobby. “What the hell?” He muttered to himself. They walked up the front door, knocked and waited.
Hawk realized this was too much to be coincidence when the door finally opened. The fourth man in the picture welcomed them, closing the door too quickly for him to get a photo. “Damn,” he muttered, “What the hell is going on here?” Hawk sat a moment as he attempted to put the pieces together. The houses were directly across from each other. They lived technically side-by-side. Why? He wondered. What purpose did that serve, unless . . . Hawk frowned as his brain worked ideas. Coincidence? Not likely in this case. Hawk left his Jeep parked where it was and headed back to the hotel.
The answer, he knew, was in those strange tunnels. If he could just find them again. He strode purposely through the lobby going back to the elevators. He pushed the code he thought he had entered and held his breath. Nobody was in the elevator with him. Seconds passed and then the doors opened. He quickly looked around. Damn, it was the special event level. Back in the elevator he returned to the lobby. He stepped out and looked around. No one seemed to be paying any attention to him. For a moment he wondered about the girl in the BMW, but she wasn’t anywhere in sight. Frustrated, he realized he was wasting time. Unexpectedly, the other elevator opened. He decided to try it again. He walked in and remembering the words on the Macombo matchbook, he punched in the coordinating numbers and waited. Nothing happened, the elevator didn’t move. He tried again. Then he felt it, the downward movement. It stopped, the doors opened, and he
walked out. It was there again, that faded look, the same hallway. Bingo.
He stood a moment as his heartbeat settled. He recognized the door at the end of the hall and walked quickly to it. The door was locked—dead end. Hawk felt his anger rise. He hated dead ends. No one was going to beat him at this. He knew what he had to do. He was going to let them open the door for him. He would just wait where he could keep an eye on them. It was time for a stakeout.
Returning to his Jeep, he settled into the driver’s seat, then reached for his camera and adjusted the photo lens. After all, he was going to need evidence.
CHAPTER VI
Kate returned to her car, having stopped at the local drugstore. Turning on the engine, she moved into the traffic on the way to the hote
l. Preoccupied, she drove thinking about the inevitable second confrontation with Sherman Avery in 24-hours. She had to admit, she hadn’t been sweetness and light lately. Yes, she had felt anger, shock and betrayal that pushed her emotional buttons to new levels. It was also true she had developed a single-minded determination to get to the truth about the mysterious Array.
However, there was also something else. She had pushed it away, ignored it, but it kept creeping back temping her, teasing her imagination with the possibilities. She could resist it, she knew it. It was just an idea; a fantasy that overwhelmed her that was absolutely frightening and equally seductive. The temptress, what would it be like to travel back to 1939, to watch her parents meet for the first time, to meet her father. The thought brought fresh tears to her eyes and sent her heartbeat to March 3rd. Thank God she was meeting with Laura tonight. She really needed some grounding. She knew it and reprimanded her for such silly ideas. “You’ve been ridiculous,” she mumbled to herself. Uncle Sherman would put her in restraints for her next two lifetimes. No, she should just forget it. She could do that . . . she hoped.
Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t notice the black dented Jeep that nearly cut her off in the stop-and-go Wilshire traffic. Suddenly irritated as the hotel came into view, she cut recklessly across the lanes, barely missing another car coming to a fast, neat stop at the hotel entrance. She stepped out of the car. Screeching tires caught her attention.
She turned quickly. The idiot in the black Jeep. She glared in his direction, then quickly put on her sunglasses, grabbed her purse and left the car with the valet parking attendant. Kate decided as she rode up in the elevator to be pleasant if it killed her. The old adage, “You can catch more bees with honey,” sat in her mind. The elevator ride also reminded her of Jack Baldwin and his entrance from the mysterious wall elevator in Sherman’s office. A plan began to form in Kate’s mind as a mischievous smile moved across her lovely face.
The Silver Screen Page 4
