by Dirk Patton
Leaning forward, I peered up through the windshield at the roof. The tall man still stood where I’d last seen him. The fire illuminated everything quite well and I got a good look at him. Didn’t recognize him, but was certain it wasn’t the original sniper. Just before Rachel cut the wheel and shot backwards into a side street, he raised his right hand in a fist, thumb and pinky extended, making a hang loose gesture.
20
Admiral Packard stood at the back of the CIC, watching as the Major fought a battle in the streets of Sydney with a Russian kill team. It looked as if his luck had almost run out when a second man suddenly appeared, seemingly from out of thin air, on the roof of the warehouse where the sniper had set up.
“Zoom on that rooftop!” he shouted, startling everyone in the room.
One of the console operators recovered from his surprise and quickly did as the Admiral had ordered. The view changed just in time to give them a ringside seat as a tall man stepped up behind the Russian and shot him in the back of the head. He quickly picked up the rifle and fired a single shot toward the street before standing to watch the Major escape.
“Son of a bitch,” Captain West muttered under his breath.
“Agreed,” Packard said. “That’s our boy from the interrogation room.”
The Admiral had the operator widen the view and continued to watch as a light helicopter crashed into the street. With a large fire burning, it was easy to see the Major dive into a waiting police car which immediately reversed away at high speed. Before it turned onto a smaller street, the man on the roof waved and made some sort of hand gesture that seemed to be friendly.
“What the hell?” West breathed again.
“Exactly, Captain,” the Admiral said. “It seems as if our mystery FBI agent just saved the Major’s life.”
“But, why? I thought we needed to…”
He paused when Packard held up a hand.
“Let’s continue this in private, Captain,” he said. “First, how long before the secure link with the platform is ready?”
“Should be within the hour, sir. The Reagan discovered some additional damage that was preventing them from maintaining lock on the satellite. I’ll be notified the moment repairs are completed and we have a secure connection with the platform.”
The Admiral nodded and led the way out of the CIC, Captain Black falling in at his side as the squad of Marines spread out and formed a protective bubble around the two senior officers. To none of their surprise, Packard headed directly for the bench where he liked to smoke.
“This would seem to change the dynamic,” the Admiral said, lighting a cigarette.
“Yes, sir. It would seem so,” West agreed. “If our theories are correct, the Athena Project must have a reason for having intervened. Perhaps it is best that you decided to not involve the Australians in stopping the Major.”
Packard puffed on the cigarette, staring out to sea as he considered the circumstances.
“There are too many variables,” he finally said. “We’re trying to react to a cryptic comment without the information we need to determine a course of action.”
“Agreed, sir,” West said, then excused himself when his phone beeped.
“Secure comm link is up, sir,” he said after reading a brief message.
The Admiral jumped to his feet and quickly stripped the cigarette butt.
“Let’s use the SCIF in my office,” he said, already striding across the lawn.
A SCIF, or Secure Compartmented Information Facility, is exactly what the name implies. It is a location that is secure from eavesdropping, either in the classical sense or the more modern notion of electronically gathering data. The Admiral and Captain West entered the medium sized room, Captain Black taking up station immediately outside the locked door. Taking seats at a small table, they faced a large video screen and West quickly initiated the secure teleconference.
When the monitor came to life, Packard recognized the SCIF aboard the Reagan, then all his attention locked onto one of the two men staring back at him. It was the man who had vanished from the interrogation room. The same man he’d just watched save Major Chase from a Russian sniper in Australia.
“Hello again, Admiral,” the man said with a smile.
“Amazing,” Packard said after a long pause. “It really is true.”
“Yes, it is,” the man said.
“Admiral,” the other man said, drawing attention to himself. “My name is Ian Patterson. I am the director of the Athena Project. I asked Agent Bering to join me to ensure you fully grasp the reality of the situation.”
“But this isn’t possible!” West interjected. “Less than twenty minutes ago, you were in Sydney, Australia. You killed a Russian sniper and another member of his squad to protect Major Chase. You can’t be in both locations!”
“You are correct that one individual cannot be in two locations simultaneously,” Patterson said. “However, the individual in Australia must be the future Agent Bering.”
“What do you mean by ‘must be’?” West asked.
The two men on the monitor exchanged glances and Patterson nodded slightly for Bering to answer the question.
“If you just saw me in Australia, but I’m sitting right here, that is the explanation. It is my future self. Something I will do. At this point in time, I have no awareness of it because it hasn’t happened for me. Yet. But I can understand why and I’m glad to know we’ve been able to restore the system to operational status in time.”
“Wait,” Packard said, holding his hand up. “I think it best if you start from the beginning. This isn’t making any sense at the moment.”
Patterson nodded and looked intently into the camera.
“I agree, Admiral. I wanted you to see Agent Bering’s face for yourself. Now, I’ll excuse him and introduce our Chief Scientist, Dr. Johanna Anholts.”
He looked off screen as Bering stood and moved out of the shot. He was immediately replaced by a stick thin woman in her late forties or early fifties. A pair of horn rimmed reading glasses swung from a chain around her neck and she was one of the palest individuals Packard or West had ever seen.
“Gentlemen,” she said once she had taken her seat. “As the Director said, my name is Doctor Johanna Anholts. I was responsible for the development of the Athena Project and oversee the ongoing operation. If you’ll bear with me, I am going to provide you with an abbreviated version of the orientation normally given to new assets.”
“Assets?” the Admiral asked.
“Assets are what we call the individuals who are capable of being sent through time,” the Director answered.
Dr. Anholts began speaking, and it was quickly obvious that this was a briefing she had delivered on many occasions. Packard and West listened in rapt attention as she discussed how time travel came to be a reality, then explained the technical and physical limitations under which they operated. It took over half an hour, even with a minimum of questions, before she was finished.
“Doctor,” the Admiral said. “I’m not sure I understand your concerns. Gravitational waves?”
“That’s correct. We have documented evidence, as I said, that there are multiple, parallel timelines. Each of us exists in all of these, but we may not be the same. An individual whom you know as easy going and funny could be uptight and angry in another time. They would still be the same person, but all the millions of interactions that occur in an individual’s life could be diverse enough to result in a starkly different personality.
“But forgive me for getting off topic. We have been carefully watching damage to other timelines. We cannot see what is happening there, but we can detect and measure the impact of the disturbance in the form of rogue gravitational waves. These waves are pure gravity and the stronger they are, the more pronounced their effect on other timelines.
“We recently experienced the strongest waves to date, just as Agent Bering was beginning to speak with you. Typically, he would have been able to share
all the data that was sent, but things are no longer normal. The gravitational anomalies affected time in a way that triggered his return to the future and placed the project in grave danger. It was necessary to scram the supercollider that allows us to open a wormhole to the past.
“This is concerning and I am endeavoring to find a resolution to the instability created when these waves appear. However, there may be farther reaching impacts that we are, as of yet, unaware.”
“And what would those be, doctor?” Packard asked.
“Unintended and unexpected changes to our own timeline. Some of them might be immediately noticeable while others would affect all of us and no one would be aware that something drastic had happened.”
“Doctor, please,” the Admiral said, shaking his head. “I’m just an old sailor, not a scientist. What kind of changes are we talking about?”
“Why, anything!” Dr. Anholts said. “Events that we know happened, no longer happened, and vice versa. People that should be alive, aren’t. And again, vice versa. Have your received any reports of anything odd? Missing people, or people that have suddenly reappeared?”
Packard glanced at West before both men shook their heads.
“Please understand, gentlemen. I’m not saying it will happen. I am simply reporting that it is possible, considering the impact on space-time of these gravitational waves.”
The two officers were quiet, thinking about the fantastic story they had just heard. Patterson and Anholts recognized their expressions and remained quiet for a few moments.
“Admiral,” the Director finally spoke up. “While we have been speaking, I have transmitted a data file for your review. I would suggest you watch it carefully, then both myself and Doctor Anholts will be available to answer any of your questions.”
“What’s on it?” Packard asked.
“The reason Agent Bering first came back. It’s the data you didn’t have an opportunity to see and I feel it is of the utmost importance that you do so before making any further tactical or strategic decisions.”
“That’s a very ominous statement, Mr. Patterson,” the Admiral said.
“We live in ominous times, Admiral,” he replied.
“Very well,” Packard said after a beat. “The Reagan will remain in the area for the time being. I’ll review the file and be in touch.”
Patterson nodded and the Admiral reached for the button to terminate the call, but paused when Captain West spoke up.
“One final question, if I may,” he said, then didn’t wait for permission to continue. “Agent Bering made an offhand comment when we told him he was in Australia to the effect of he was glad the system was operating again. What did he mean by that?”
“The scramming of the supercollider,” Anholts said. “It takes a lot of time to restore operations after an emergency shutdown. At this moment, we are not operational, but my team is busy working on a solution. Apparently, we will find one.”
She shrugged her shoulders and smiled into the camera.
21
“Where are we going?” Rachel shouted over the roar of the racing engine.
She’d gotten us turned around and we were screaming down a narrow road with small commercial buildings lining each side. I looked around, still trying to shake the surprise of whatever the hell it was that had just happened. Who was the guy that had probably saved our lives? Shaking my head, I dismissed the thought. Right now, there were bigger things to worry about.
We were in a stolen police car, fleeing a scene where two cops had been killed and a department helicopter had apparently been shot down. And we weren’t in the sticks. Sydney is a modern city and I had no doubt there was a GPS tracker of some sort in the vehicle.
That meant we had next to no time once the rest of the officers realized that two of their own were down. At that point, they wouldn’t be terribly interested in hearing my side of the story before they started shooting. Frankly, I didn’t blame them. I’d be feeling the same way. So, the first order of business was to get the hell away from this vehicle.
“Gotta ditch the car,” I said. “Fast, before the rest of the police start looking for it. In there!”
I’d spotted a swiftly approaching parking garage. Rachel jammed the brakes, hard, cutting the wheel and sending us into a skid before regaining control and screaming into the entrance. A ticket dispensing machine flashed past an instant before a lightweight gate-arm was smashed aside, then we made a sharp left. The tires protested loudly and I pointed at the first parking spot I saw.
Rachel turned into it, coming to a stop with more tire squealing. She shut the engine off and I leapt out of the passenger door, drawing my knife.
“Pop the hood!” I yelled before she could get out, too.
She fumbled for a second, then the front edge of the hood jumped up a few inches. I stuck my hand inside, felt the release and jerked it fully open, pausing long enough to put the bracing rod in place so the damn thing would stay up. By this time, Rachel and Dog were out of the car, standing next to me.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
I had already found the negative battery cable and was sawing away at the tough, insulated wire.
“Hoping this thing’s GPS doesn’t have its own battery backup,” I said, grunting with exertion. “If I cut power, maybe it won’t be so easy for them to find the car.”
She didn’t say anything else as I kept working. Finally, the cable parted and I bent it well clear so there was no chance of the two ends coming into contact and restoring power to the vehicle. I didn’t bother taking the time to close the hood. It didn’t matter.
“Let’s go,” I said, glancing around before heading for the entrance we’d used.
I spent thirty seconds cleaning up the debris from the shattered gate, tossing it behind a thick bush that was growing right outside the garage. If I’d left it there, it would have been an obvious clue that would attract the attention of the police when they started hunting for us. The missing gate was another tip off, but it wasn’t glaring and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
“Where are we going?” Rachel asked.
“Don’t know, yet,” I said, leading the way to the sidewalk and turning away from the direction we’d come from.
On the horizon to our rear, there was a bright glow from the burning helicopter. There were several cars parked immediately next to where it had crashed and it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that the flames had spread to them. Sirens were loud on the soft, night air, seemingly from every direction. Fortunately, none sounded like they were within a block of our location. For now.
“We’ve got to get off the street,” I said. “I’m willing to bet one of those cops called in our description and I doubt there’s too many couples out walking a big dog in this neighborhood.”
Dog glanced up at me to see if I was talking to him, then snorted and looked front again. I was scanning all the buildings on the street, hoping to find one that looked like it would be easy to break into. But we apparently weren’t in one of Sydney’s better areas as every door and window was protected by iron security bars.
We were the only people out moving, sticking out like a sore thumb. There wasn’t a thing I could do about that. We simply needed to keep going and put more distance between us and the scene of the murders as quickly as possible.
In addition to searching for a candidate building to break into, I was also identifying places for us to hide if a vehicle approached. It wasn’t a great plan, but all I had for now. If we could conceal ourselves quickly enough, a searching patrol car might drive on by without spotting us.
No sooner had I had the thought than I heard the rumble of an engine from behind. Looking over my shoulder, I saw an SUV turn onto the street from a minor side road. Grabbing Rachel’s hand and calling Dog, I raced across a small parking lot that separated a printing shop from an auto repair business. Around the side of the printer was darkness and a few struggling bushes. I crashed through them
, dragging Rachel with me and came to a stop in a crouch behind the largest one.
Dog pressed himself against my side, alert for danger as I drew the pistol and took a second to check the load. I was down to less than eight rounds and only had a single spare magazine. Hardly enough to go into a gunfight, but it was better than nothing.
Weapon trained on the area we’d just crossed, I waited as the sound of the SUV drew closer. There was a low frequency hum from aggressive off-road tires, then the note changed as the driver slowed. A moment later, a battered and filthy Land Rover came into the light and slowly turned into the parking lot. This wasn’t a cop. What the fuck was this idiot doing?
The Rover pulled to a stop thirty feet away, headlights shining brightly on the side of the opposite building. After a moment, the driver’s door opened with a squeal of rusty hinges. I could see movement, but the dome light didn’t come on so I couldn’t make out details. Damn near pulling the trigger, I paused when the tall man stepped out of the vehicle and into the light from the print shop. Hands on his hips, he looked directly at where I was crouching in the dark.
“Cops’ll be here any second,” he called. “Might should come out of there before they catch your ass.”
22
Igor watched as the group of guards drew closer. The men couldn’t see him and the wind was wrong for the dogs to catch his scent. He was optimistic that he would be able to severely reduce their numbers before he was killed or wounded so badly he couldn’t continue to fight. That was all that mattered. Buy time for Irina and her uncle.
Thoughts of Irina sent a stabbing pain of regret through his heart. He knew this was the end. He’d never see her face again or hear her laugh. Never hold her in his arms. But she would survive, of that he had no doubt.
The pursuers hesitated at the edge of the forest, bunching up as they tried to see what was waiting for them in the darkness. Igor understood this without even having to think about it. Childhood stories of wolves and ogres and witches were still common in Russia. Parents and grandparents repeated tales, told for generations, of children wandering into dark forests to be taken and never seen or heard from again.
