by Dave Barry
J.D. looked troubled. “Maybe you shouldn’t get involved with this, Mac,” he said. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”
“I know more than you might think,” said Mac. “Over the years, your grandfather did me the honor of seeking my advice in certain matters, and I flatter myself in thinking that I may have been of some help to your…organization. I’m more than happy to help you now.”
“So,” said Sarah. “You know…you know about…”
“I know it wasn’t a giant magnet,” said Mac.
“Mac,” said J.D. “I don’t know what to say.”
“No need to say anything,” said Mac. “I’ll get the keys to Eleanor’s car.” He left the room, returning a minute later with a set of car keys, which he handed to J.D. “I just hope it starts,” he said. “Not that it’s any of my business, but do you know where you’re going?”
J.D., Sarah, and Aidan exchanged blank looks.
“We haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” said J.D. “Mainly we need to get somewhere safe, away from here, where we can figure out our next move.”
“How about a cabin in North Carolina?” said Mac.
“What?”
“We bought it when I retired. Haven’t been there in a while. Another thing I’ve been meaning to sell. I’ll go get the keys.”
Ten minutes later, with the help of jumper cables, Eleanor’s car—an ancient green Volvo—was running. J.D. was at the wheel, with Sarah in the shotgun seat and Aidan in the back. J.D. rolled down the window.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said.
“Just stay safe,” said Mac. “You need anything, get in touch. You remember my e-mail address?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then. Better get moving.”
J.D. put the car in gear and eased it out of the driveway and onto the street. As they drove away, Aidan and Sarah looked back at the fading figure of Mac, watching them, looking frail and ghostly in his white pajamas.
“I can’t believe that old guy has e-mail,” said Aidan.
“That old guy,” said J.D., “helped invent the Internet.”
The sergeant had stepped outside the Princeton police station for a few minutes to stretch his legs. It had been a very long, very strange night—a flying police vehicle, for heaven’s sake. And the night was not going to end any time soon, with calls coming in from all over, including Washington, D.C.
The FBI, he thought. That’s all we need.
He walked a couple of blocks, then stopped under a streetlight to look at his watch. He sighed; time to get back.
A bird landed on the sidewalk next to him. The sergeant didn’t know what kind it was, but it was black, and unusually large. It also seemed unusually bold, for a bird—it stood only a few feet away from him, apparently unafraid.
A second bird landed on the sidewalk. A third. The sergeant heard a rustling noise overhead. He looked up and gasped; the roof of the two-story building he stood next to was lined with birds, hundreds of them.
Feeling both nervous and foolish—they’re just birds—he turned to walk back toward the station. He had taken only a couple of steps when he heard the furious beating of wings followed by a rushing sound. Suddenly, the sidewalk was covered with the black birds, swarming onto his shadow. He felt an awful chill creeping up through his body. He wanted to run, wanted to scream. But his legs would no longer move, and no sound came from his mouth. He fought to keep his wits about him—don’t panic—but it was as if his very ability to think was being sucked out of him.
And then there was only one thought left: Obey.
Slowly, he trudged back toward the station.
Sam Cleavy worked a cash toll booth on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. It was a boring job, but it had become less boring thanks to the advent of live TV streamed onto smart phones. Sam basically spent his days watching TV while taking tolls. He was very good at both.
When the old green Volvo came through his booth, he had already seen the driver’s face dozens of times on TV—it was the kidnapper, the one involved in the crazy story about the flying police van. Sam recognized the two kids, too; they didn’t look like they were afraid of the kidnapper, but they were definitely the ones on TV.
Sam handed the kidnapper his change, then reached down to press a red button used to photograph the license plate of the car currently in his bay. As soon as the car pulled away, he picked up the phone and called his supervisor.
Then he went back to watching TV.
CHAPTER 21
THE BRIDGE
THEY WERE IN MARYLAND NOW, southbound on I-81, J.D. carefully keeping their speed just under the limit. Aidan dozed in the backseat; Sarah, fighting fatigue, had been surfing the radio stations. As Mac had predicted, the strange story of the flying police van was attracting much attention. Finally, tired of listening to essentially the same report endlessly repeated, Sarah switched off the radio.
“We need a plan,” she said.
“I agree,” said J.D. “But right now I’m too tired to think. I need to focus on staying awake.”
“Will it help to talk?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, then maybe you can explain something. Remember when the police broke down your door?”
“And then knocked me down and dragged me out in handcuffs? I vaguely recall that, yes.”
“Okay, just before that, you said you thought that E in Molly’s diary was Albert Einstein.”
“Right.”
“And then you said you thought you knew what the bridge was.”
“Yup,” said J.D. “I don’t know what good it’ll do us, but I think I do. And if I’m right, I’m also pretty sure I know what the Starcatchers did with the island.”
“You do? Seriously?”
“I do,” said J.D. “But it’s going to sound weird.”
From the backseat, Aidan said, “We’re being chased by a huge flock of birds inhabited by an evil being. We made a police van fly. Nothing you say is gonna sound weird.”
“I thought you were asleep,” said J.D.
“I was,” said Aidan, sitting up, “but you guys started yakking.”
“So what did they do with the island?” said Sarah.
“I think they moved it,” said J.D.
“I take it back,” said Aidan. “Maybe I am still asleep.”
“What do you mean, moved it?” said Sarah.
“I mean they put it somewhere else,” said J.D. “Which is why nobody has found it in modern times.”
“They moved the whole island,” said Sarah.
“Yes,” said J.D. “And that’s not even the weird part.”
“It’s not?” said Aidan.
“No,” said J.D. “The weird part is where they moved it to.”
“I’m afraid to ask,” said Sarah.
J.D. took a breath, exhaled, and said, “I think they moved it to a parallel universe.”
“What?” said Sarah. “What?”
“I saw that on Star Trek,” said Aidan.
“I know, I know,” said J.D. “It sounds like bad science fiction. But I think that’s what they did.”
“Okay, wait,” said Sarah. “Let’s say that’s even possible. We’re talking about, what, a hundred years ago. They didn’t have anything like the technology scientists have today.”
“True,” said J.D. “But they had two things scientists don’t have today. One was the most brilliant physicist, maybe the most brilliant scientific mind, in human history.”
“Einstein,” said Sarah.
“Him,” said J.D.
“What’s the other thing?” said Aidan.
“Starstuff,” said J.D. “I haven’t figured out what it is, but even in minute quantities it appears to contain vast amounts of energy, and it has some highly unusual properties—it counteracts gravity, it radically alters emotions; who knows what else? I believe Einstein harnessed that energy to create the bridge.”
“The bridge in the diary,” said S
arah.
“Yes. That’s what I was trying to explain when the police broke down the door. In physics it’s called an Einstein-Rosen bridge.”
“Who’s Rosen?” said Aidan.
“A guy who worked with Einstein,” said J.D. “They came up with a theory that there was a way to pass from one universe to another. That became known as an Einstein-Rosen bridge.”
“So there really is more than one universe?” said Sarah. “It’s not just science fiction?”
“We’re talking theory,” said J.D. “But, yes, it’s pretty much accepted that there are other universes, possibly an infinite number of them. And…hang on.”
“What?” said Sarah.
J.D. pointed to the rearview mirror. Sarah looked back; overtaking them fast was a police cruiser, lights flashing. “No,” she said.
J.D., his eyes flicking to the mirror, said, “Okay, I’m the one they really want. If he pulls us over, I’ll get out and walk back toward him. You guys get out and run.”
“Run where?” said Aidan, looking around. “We don’t even know where we are.”
“You’ll have to figure it out,” said J.D. “Get ready.”
Sarah got her backpack off the car floor and held it in her lap. The speeding cruiser was fifty yards back…twenty-five…ten…
J.D. was gripping the wheel, his body tense. The cruiser pulled up next to them. Nobody dared to look over. And then the cruiser passed them. Not slowing at all, it hurtled along the empty highway ahead, quickly disappearing from view.
J.D. exhaled. “Guess he wasn’t after us.” “I’m wide awake now,” said Aidan. Sarah eased her grip on the backpack and leaned back against the seat.
“Okay,” she said, turning to J.D. “If there’s more than one universe, where are all the other ones?”
“That part’s a little tricky,” said J.D. “It’s not a question of physical distance. You can’t get to them by flying in a spaceship. No matter how far you went, you’d still be in this universe. So what you need is a wormhole, which is another name for an Einstein-Rosen bridge. Theoretically, these wormholes are a path from one universe to another.”
“You keep saying theoretically,” said Sarah.
“Right, because nobody’s been able to confirm their existence. Also, it’s generally accepted that even if wormholes did exist, they wouldn’t be stable enough for matter to pass through. Unless…” J.D. paused dramatically.
“Unless what?” said Sarah.
“Unless they were stabilized by some kind of highly exotic matter, currently unknown to science.”
“Starstuff,” said Aidan.
“Yes,” said J.D. “Maybe Einstein figured out a way to use starstuff to create a stable bridge, then send the island through it.”
“A whole island?” said Aidan. “I don’t think so.”
“Be quiet,” Sarah told her brother. She turned to J.D. “How would that work, exactly?” she said. “I mean, is there, like, a tunnel somewhere? And wouldn’t it have to be huge to fit an island through it?”
“It wouldn’t be a tunnel, at least not what you think of as a physical tunnel,” said J.D. “I’m guessing it would be some kind of device, which generated a…okay, let’s call it a force field. I assume the device would have to be portable, so it could be transported to the island, presumably by ship.”
“The Sea Ghost!” exclaimed Sarah.
“I beg your pardon?” said J.D.
“Hang on,” said Sarah. She unzipped her backpack and dug out the diary. She opened the glove compartment and, using the light from its interior, began leafing through the pages. “Okay,” she said. “About halfway through the diary, after all the stuff about E creating the bridge, Molly starts talking about…okay, here she starts talking about an expedition. That’s where she mentions this Sea Ghost.”
“That must be a ship,” said J.D. “The expedition must have been to transport the bridge to the island.”
“Okay,” said Sarah, excited now, flipping pages quickly. “So then there are a bunch of entries about the expedition, and then…here, she says, ‘Received a telegram today, via radio from the Sea Ghost. One wonderful word, success. We are thrilled, especially E.’”
“So it actually worked?” said Aidan.
“Yeah,” said J.D. “I think they bridged the island.” He shook his head in wonderment. “Do you have any idea what this means? If this were published…”
The car was quiet for a moment, then Sarah said, “Does that mean the island’s gone forever?”
J.D. thought about it. “I suppose it depends,” he said. “On what?” “On what they did with the bridge. Does the diary say anything about that?”
“Yep,” said Sarah, flipping more pages. “There’s a bunch of stuff in here about keeping the bridge secure.”
“So they didn’t destroy it,” J.D. said softly.
“No,” said Sarah, still flipping. “For years they kept it in…Berlin.”
“That’s where Einstein lived,” said J.D.
“Then…okay, listen to this. This is from 1933: ‘The situation in Germany has become intolerable. E and his family will emigrate to the United States. We have arranged for the bridge to accompany him, as well as J, who will assist in maintaining it.’”
“Wait a minute,” said J.D. “You’re saying the bridge came to the United States, with Einstein?”
“That’s what it sounds like,” said Sarah.
“And he was accompanied by somebody named ‘J’?”
“Yeah,” said Sarah, looking at the diary. “Why?”
“Okay, listen,” said J.D. “I’m named after my grandfather and my father. My grandfather was John; my father was Douglas. J.D. stands for John Douglas.”
“Um…so?” said Aidan.
“So,” said J.D., “my grandfather, John Aster, came to Princeton from England in 1933. The same year as the J in the diary.”
“That’s interesting,” said Sarah, “but it doesn’t mean that it’s the same person.”
“Do you know where Einstein settled when he came to the United States?” said J.D.
“No idea,” said Sarah.
“Princeton,” said J.D.
“Oh,” said Sarah.
“So wait a minute,” said Aidan. “Are you saying that this bridge thing is in Princeton?”
“I’m saying it’s possible that it once was,” said J.D.
“Do you think it could still be there?” said Sarah.
“What I think,” said J.D., “is that we need to get back in touch with Mac.”
CHAPTER 22
ROSEY
MAC’S CABIN WAS AT THE END of a steep dirt road that snaked up a densely wooded hillside a few miles outside the North Carolina town of Highlands. They reached the cabin at mid-morning, bone-weary from the long drive. Sarah snagged the bedroom; J.D. and Aidan crashed in the living room. All three were asleep within minutes.
As morning turned to afternoon, J.D.’s growling stomach woke him. He rummaged through the pantry, dusted off a big can of ravioli, and heated it up in a pot on the stove. The aroma roused Sarah and Aidan, who trudged into the kitchen zombie-style.
“What’s for lunch?” said Aidan.
“Ravioli from about 1987,” said J.D.
“Any other choices?” said Aidan.
“Spam from 1971.”
“I’ll have the ravioli,” said Aidan.
J.D. spooned the food into three bowls. They ate like wolves.
“Now what?” said Sarah, chewing her last forkful.
“Now I call Mac,” said J.D., pulling out his cell phone.
“Can’t the police trace your phone?” said Aidan.
“I’m just getting the number off my cell,” said J.D. “There’s no signal here anyway.” He walked over to a wall-mounted phone. “I’m hoping Mac didn’t disconnect this line.” He lifted the receiver, heard a dial tone, and punched in the number. “You guys want to listen?”
Sarah and Aidan nodded. J.D. hit the speaker butto
n. They heard the brrrr of the receiving phone ringing, then Mac’s voice. “Hello.”
“It’s J.D., Mac. Sarah and Aidan are listening on speakerphone.”
“Are you all right?”
“We’re fine. We’re at your place.”
“Glad to hear it. From what I’m seeing on the news, you three are very much in demand up here.”
“I bet. We really can’t thank you enough for helping us out.”
“Not at all.”
“Mac, the reason I called is…okay. I’m just going to come right out and ask you. What can you tell us about my grandfather and the Einstein-Rosen bridge?”
There was a moment of silence, then, “Sounds as though you’ve been doing some sleuthing.”
“So you know something about it?”
“Perhaps you can tell me what you know.”
J.D. quickly summarized what they’d read in the diary, and his theory about what it meant. When he finished, there was a long pause on the other end.
“So,” said Mac. “You’ve concluded that they created a stable Einstein-Rosen bridge, which they then used to transport an entire island to another universe. And they did all this without computers—essentially without modern technology.”
J.D.’s face fell. “You’re saying I’m insane,” he said.
“I’m not saying that.”
“Are you saying it’s true?”
“I’m not saying that, either.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Mac sighed. “I’m in a bit of an awkward position here.
I gave my word to your grandfather that I wouldn’t reveal anything about his organization or his work with Doctor Einstein.”
J.D. was about to respond, but Sarah beat him to it.
“That’s real noble, professor,” she said. “Your word and all. But here’s the thing: J.D.’s grandfather’s organization was fighting against something evil. You knew that, right?”
“I was aware of it, yes.”
“Well, that evil thing is still around, and it’s after us. It’s partly our fault—”
“Our fault?” said Aidan.
“Okay,” said Sarah, “it’s mainly my fault. I went poking around into something I probably should have left alone.”
