POINT OPTION: A Time-Travel Military Thriller

by Ian A. O'Connor

  “Understood, Admiral.” The aide turned to Caffarone. “Father, please come with me.”

  Caffarone barely had time to say goodbye to the others, but the grin on his face said it all.

  Admiral Christensen rose. “All right, gentlemen, there’s nothing more we can do until the good padre returns. I suspect that won’t be until Saturday, or maybe Sunday at the earliest, so if any of you want to take a few days leave, do so, but drop off a phone contact number with my office in case I need you back before then. Otherwise, plan on being here first thing Tuesday morning. Enjoy the 4th of July holiday weekend, gentlemen. That will be all.”

  CHAPTER 30

  CHICAGO

  Thursday July 1st – Monday, July 5th

  “Five whole days, what a wonderful surprise!” Susan had been beside herself at hearing the good news. “Could we go to Chicago and be with mom for the long weekend? She would love to see you.”

  Fleming had laughed. “Sure, but it might be next to impossible getting plane tickets because of the long holiday.”

  Susan waved off the objection. “Leave it to me. We need to pack and be ready to Uber over to either Reagan or Dulles Airports. Let’s order breakfast from room service, that way we won’t waste any time.”

  Four hours later they were seated in first-class on American Airlines and cruising at thirty-six thousand feet somewhere over Indiana. When Fleming had protested the cost, Susan had brushed aside his concern. “David, you must learn to accept the fact that I am wealthy. I appreciate you wanting to be careful with our spending, but there are times when having a little discretionary income is good. This is one of those times, so indulge me.”

  They were met at O’Hare Airport by the same chauffeured Bentley and whisked to the mansion on Lake Michigan. Theresa Renninger had been tied up all day with meetings, but joined them for dinner.

  She now dabbed at her lips, put down her napkin, and beamed at them both. “What a wonderful surprise, I still can’t believe you’re actually here.” She tuned to her daughter. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have changed my schedule and met you at the airport.”

  “Because I wanted it to be a surprise, silly!”

  Theresa turned to her son-in-law. “Dave, I can offer you an after dinner brandy, but I draw the line at any thought of having cigars in the library.”

  “Neither, thank you.” He sat back, contented, and laughed at the thought of the two of them puffing away in the oak-paneled library. “If I ate like this all the time I would soon weigh three hundred pounds, and my beautiful wife would divorce me for a younger model.”

  “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” Theresa replied, “but I must warn you, we will be hosting a special gathering on the Fourth, and there’ll be tons of sinfully good food. It’s been a tradition for the past fifteen years, and you’ll have an opportunity to meet some interesting guests. Anyway, what have you two got planned for the next few days?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” they said in unison, and laughed.

  “Dave’s been super busy, Mom. His flying schedule has been brutal, so he wants to chill out. And I’m going to make every minute count just being with my man.”

  The days whizzed by, and before Fleming knew it, Monday was here, and their flight back to Washington was scheduled for six that evening. Theresa had been subdued during breakfast.

  The gathering of guests the day before had been everything the mother had promised. Fleming had met two U.S. senators, a governor, four presidents of Fortune 500 companies, two whom he recognized on sight, and a score of other interesting people. What truly impressed him was seeing for himself how genuinely liked Theresa Henninger was by all. Theirs was not a fawning to curry favor: these people were truly her friends.

  She now reached across the table and took hold of their hands. “Susan, Dave, I need to talk to you about something …”

  “Oh, God, Mom, what’s wrong?” a wide-eyed Susan asked in a dread-filled whisper. “You’re dying!”

  “No, no, child. I’m sorry if I startled you. I’m as healthy as the proverbial horse, but I do need to discuss an important issue and now seemed the best time to do so.”

  Both waited with bated breath.

  “I’ll be turning sixty on my next birthday,” she began, “and the time has come for me to prepare a plan for Rentran Industries to prosper under the next generation’s leadership. As you know, the company currently operates three manufacturing plants: two here in the U.S., and one in Taiwan. Because of the ever-increasing demand for electric vehicles worldwide, we’ll be adding a fourth soon, probably in Brazil, and a fifth, most likely in Germany. EVs are no longer a fad; they’re here to stay. But let me digress for just a moment. You would think a manufacturing plant belonged in China, but I decided against doing just that several years ago, and my instinct proved right. You see, the Chinese took my transmissions, reversed engineered them, and began producing cheap knock-offs even though I had patent protection, or so I thought. I learned the hard way that China does not honor patents, or any other intellectual property rights for that matter, but I was not about to get into a protracted, costly, legal battle with a sovereign nation.”

  She paused for a sip of orange juice, then continued. “For a few years China dominated the markets in Asia by underpricing Rentran through massive government subsidies that is, until their Achilles heel was exposed. Their transmissions were not only unreliable, but they were also downright dangerous. Injuries and deaths became commonplace in EVs using their transmissions and, within a couple of years, no manufacturer anywhere would buy a transmission made in China. Our plant in Taiwan was soon flooded with orders, so much so, it is now our largest. Rentran employs just shy of thirteen thousand associates worldwide, and I expect to double that number within three years. But I’m very concerned that China has designs on invading Taiwan, probably sooner than later, so I’m actively looking to build a plant somewhere else in the region. Lastly, I’ve been mulling over the idea of taking the company public. It’s a long, difficult process which requires intimate knowledge of the many SEC rules and regulations one must adhere to for an Initial Public Offering (IPO) to pass muster. All of which leads me to this.”

  She now looked directly at Fleming. “I know you love your life as an Air Force pilot, and the adage the sky’s the limit was coined just for you. Chances are very good you will retire as a general officer, no small feat in today’s competitive military.” Theresa paused for a few moments, then said, “But I would like you to consider an alternative.”

  She correctly read his face. “I know, Dave, believe me I know, but please hear me out. What I’m asking is this: Would you consider coming to work for Rentran Industries? You are certainly well qualified. You have a mechanical engineering degree from the Air Force Academy and an aeronautical engineering master’s from Purdue. In two years, possibly less, I could teach you everything you would need to know to run this company. But most of all, I would love to see Susan’s father’s dream of Rentran becoming a true family dynasty, something akin to the Ford’s, a family he so admired.” She paused to look at her daughter. “By then you will have started a family, giving me the grandchildren that I promise you both I’ll spoil rotten.”

  Her ensuing chuckle broke the ice. “Dave, I’m not asking for an answer today, tomorrow, or even next month. I only ask that the two of you talk about it, weigh the pros and cons, and discuss how it would impact your chosen career path. Just think about it, all right?”

  Fleming sat in silence for a long moment, then said, “Theresa, I promise we will weigh your offer with the utmost care. Your generosity and your confidence in my abilities is humbling, and so you deserve no less. We will not keep you hanging. I promise, you will have an answer much sooner than later. And all I can say is thank you.”

  CHAPTER 31

  WASHINGTON DC

  TUESDAY Morning, July 6th

  The small group of officers led by Admiral Christensen welcomed b
ack a visibly tired Commander Caffarone, whose wide grin spoke volumes. The trip had been a resounding success, but Caffarone had even better news to tell.

  “Admiral, we’ve hit a home run.”

  “Really, Padre? I’m all ears, tell me more.”

  “When I got back on board the LBJ and went to collect Leonardo’s clothes, I was told by a laundry technician that they hadn’t been washed yet and were still sitting in a laundry bag stashed away in some corner. I found the bag, wrapped it in plastic, then sealed it good and tight. It never left my side until I handed it over to a lieutenant at the Research Lab and made sure he signed a receipt for it.”

  Admiral Christensen interrupted with a fist pump and a loud, “Hallelujah!” He understood immediately the enormity of Caffarone’s revelation. “Now you’ve brought me something I can really sink my teeth into.” He turned to Blizzard and asked, “Can you guess where I’m going with this, Miles?”

  “Indeed I can, Admiral. You’re thinking we now have the boy’s DNA in those dirty clothes, plus God only knows what other nasty 15th century creepy crawlies which might be hiding in that bag as well. Father Caffarone has returned with a treasure trove that will keep our scientists busy for years, but best of all: We now have irrefutable proof that we journeyed back in time, just as we’ve been saying all along. So, yeah, I’ll be adding my Hallelujah to yours!”

  Everyone broke out in applause.

  Admiral Christensen held up a hand to signal that he wasn’t quite finished. He turned again to Father Caffarone. “The radiocarbon dating process started immediately after you delivered Leonardo’s clothes to the U.S. Naval Research Laboratory. The initial tests take fourteen days to complete. The lieutenant I spoke with was the same one you had sign the receipt, and he went on to explain how carbon-14 would be converted to carbon-12, or maybe it was the other way around, I’m really not sure. He also spoke about the possibility of using or producing nitrogen-13, and then he tossed around a lot of fancy words such as gas proportional counting, spectroscopy, and infrared light. I had no idea what he was talking about, but if he was just trying to impress me with his scientific mumbo-jumbo, he definitely succeeded!”

  The group laughed politely.

  “But on a more serious note,” Christensen continued, “having the boy’s clothing to carbon date and his DNA to analyze will convince even the most skeptical soul that the LBJ journeyed through a time-portal back to the Middle Ages. Of course, we’ll also continue with the thorough examination of the damaged Hornet to determine just how much it too, had aged, but I’m told that report could take up to a year to complete. I was also informed on Saturday that each of you will be required to undergo annual medical exams at Walter Reed Hospital for the next five years, possibly longer. That’s to see if there are any long-term effects of such a journey on the human body, whether or not you were officially believed. The concern that maybe something happened to you is very real because we know for a fact that those healthy young flyers died as old men within hours of landing on the LBJ. No one can deny that something horrific took place that day. Unfortunately, we’ll never really know what happened to that Russian submarine and its crew, but I’d wager all of your money, Miles, they were doomed by a similar set of circumstances. Anyway, our work is finished here, at least for the moment. It’s my intention to approach the President and National Security Council as soon as we get the DNA results back, with a recommendation to ask Congress to fund a Black Ops Department to see if your time travel excursion can be duplicated. It will remain a top secret project because we cannot tip our hand to our adversaries to show that we are taking the whole idea of time travel seriously. In terms of national security, this is now a more important undertaking than the Project Blue Book of the nineteen fifties, or even that underwhelming June 2021 Pentagon Report on Unidentified Aerial Phenomenon. And lastly, I promise to get word to each of you regarding the carbon dating, and the DNA results from Leonardo’s clothes as soon as I get them. The information will come in the form of an innocuous email, but you’ll easily understand its meaning. Any questions?”

  The five officers shook their heads.

  “Miles, Sean, Padre, you need to get back to the LBJ, and you too, Commander Birdwell,” Christensen said, then turned to Fleming. “Do you know the word shanghaied?”

  Fleming wondered where such a question was leading. “To force a landlubber to join a ship’s crew against his will, Admiral. I don’t think that practice has been in vogue for more than a century now.”

  Admiral Christensen laughed. “Wrong about being out of vogue because I’m about to Shanghai you … but only with your approval, CAG,” he quickly added.

  “Aye, Admiral, he’s all yours to shanghai, but I must warn you, the lad’s not well-versed in Navy ways. However, I do believe he’s trainable.”

  “Thank you, CAG.” Christensen turned back to face Fleming, now wearing a more serious mien. “Major, I want you to come work with me on another special project I have in mind. I got a green light from my Air Force counterpart, General Adrian McFarland, to shanghai you, but your acceptance really must be freely made. If you decide to decline, there will be no repercussions, I can assure you of that. But I was impressed with your actions regarding the entire time-travel encounter. Both Captain Blizzard and Captain Gowdy told me of your logical and persuasive reasoning for wanting to wait until nightfall to be picked up so as not to terrify the locals with the appearance of a helicopter. And here last week, it was you who came up with the idea of bringing Leonardo da Vinci’s clothes from the LBJ for analysis. Those lab results will be used as the nexus for how the Navy will proceed in studying this phenomenon. Anyway, I would like you to think it over and give me your decision by Thursday. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you anything more until then. Agreed?”

  “Yes, Admiral, and thank you. You will have my decision by Thursday.”

  CHAPTER 32

  The Following December

  It wouldn't be correct to say she heard it first because he never heard it at all. Bolting upright, she covered her ears to shut out the offending clamor. After what seemed like an eternity, she reached across his sleeping figure and brought a hand down on top of the alarm clock. She found the light switch and snapped it on. What noise couldn’t accomplish; light did. His breathing stopped, and an arm reached up in reflex action to guard his eyes against the enemy.

  “Five o'clock, Dave,” she whispered. “Are you sure you've got to go?'' A moment passed and she added, her voice wheedling, 'Couldn't you call in sick or something?”

  “Fat chance, but nice try,” he mumbled. A few seconds passed. “Why am I having a déjà vu moment? I’m pretty sure I heard that same argument somewhere before. He began laughing, then turned to face his wife. “Honey, it’s just my drill weekend with the Florida Air Guard. I need two more flights to the Avon Park Gunnery Range to close out this year’s flying requirements. Which means it’s time for moi to shake the lead out. This boy must get his butt to Florida, and pronto!” Fleming jumped out of bed and headed for the kitchen to start the coffee maker.

  Five busy months had passed since that last meeting with Admiral Christensen, and in the interim, Fleming’s life had taken a 180 degree turn. He had informed the admiral of his decision not to come work for him, explaining how he had made the hard choice to leave active duty in order to help in the family business. The out-processing procedure had taken three weeks, but in that short time he had secured a slot to fly the new F-15EX Eagle II with the Florida Air National Guard’s 125th Wing stationed at Jacksonville International Airport. Lady Luck had been most kind and had dealt him four aces. He had snagged a rare pilot slot that had suddenly opened up, beating out a dozen other equally qualified pilots who had also cast their hats into that very small ring.

  On his last day, he received a cryptic email from Admiral Christensen confirming the authenticity of Leonardo da Vinci’s clothing. The DNA tests would take longer. He included a simple sentence which F
leming immediately likened to lightning in a bottle. Their guest lecturer expert, Alfred Champlain, had searched Italian genealogical records at Admiral Christensen’s request and had identified thirty-five living people related to Leonardo da Vinci, including the internationally acclaimed film star, Angela Caprini.

  The admiral was right. This was the gamechanger. Time travel was real.

  Fleming finished his coffee, then called out to his wife. “I told the guys I won’t be hanging around for the Christmas party Sunday evening, so I should be home by dinnertime.”

  “I’m glad you’re not staying that extra day, Dave.” They were expecting a baby girl in early April, and oftentimes laughed together at the thought of Theresa being more excited than they were. “Oh, I just remembered,” she added, “your renewal passport came yesterday, so you’re all set for the January trip to Taiwan with mother. This’ll be the first time she’ll have company going overseas.” Susan walked into the kitchen, wrapped her arms around his waist, and squeezed. “No regrets about leaving the Air Force to go work with mom?”

  Fleming squeezed back. “Absolutely none. I’m learning the ropes from the numero uno boss in the business, and you’ve got to admit, I now have the best of both worlds. I get to fly fast movers with the Florida Guard every month, and I’m married to the love of my life. What more could a guy ask for?”

  “And I’m happy too.” She pulled away just enough to look up at his face. “It’s strange how those horrible nightmares literally stopped the day you told me you were going to accept mom’s offer. I had thought it was your flying that had me nervous and upset, but I was wrong. I don’t worry about your training weekends flying with the new squadron, but for some reason that I’ll never understand, I was terrified every minute you were with the Navy.” She flashed her most radiant smile.