36: A Novel

by Dirk Patton

  “Why Ray? Why not just call the Department of Justice? They could have been waiting to scoop him up when he landed.”

  “One of Director Patterson’s standing orders is that we, in his words, wash our own laundry. It is appropriate, considering the sensitive nature of the Athena Project. We can’t afford to have investigators looking into what happens here in the facility.”

  I nodded, understanding. But it still bothered me that Johnson had apparently been so careless. He’d made no effort to cover his tracks. Knew very well that his actions would be discovered and I would be sent back to stop him from killing the director. Then why did he do it? How did he think he was going to get away with it?

  “Agent Johnson is a very dangerous man,” Carpenter said. “Perhaps he thinks you couldn’t stop him even if you did come back. I’ve heard stories. He was a Marine. A MARSOC Marine, assigned to one of the Raider battalions. From what I’ve heard, he is a grade A badass. When you get back there, you have to put him down immediately, the instant you see him. You cannot hesitate.”

  I looked at Carpenter. What he said was right. I couldn’t give Johnson the opportunity to defend himself or fight back. But the whole thing still bothered me. Even more so now that I’d learned he was a Marine. And not just a normal Jarhead, but a Raider. You don’t get there if you’re not the best of the best.

  And one thing I knew about the guys that wound up in Special Forces. Regardless of whether they were a Marine, SEAL or Green Beret, they were duty bound to a fault. Despite popular fiction, they didn’t go off and join conspiracies to overthrow the government. At least not the operators I’d met.

  Of course, they’re still human, and there’s always exceptions. But I’d never gotten that vibe from Johnson. He could be annoying. Rigid. Certainly had a stick up his ass. Probably chewed on ground glass for breakfast. If not for the video I’d carried back, where he ordered my death, I’m not sure I would be convinced.

  “We have a distance point calculated for you to arrive five minutes before Agent Johnson enters the director’s office,” Dr. Anholts said. “We’re ready whenever you are.”

  “When is that?” I asked, still struggling to reconcile the events in my head.

  “Nearly twenty-three hours ago,” Dr. Anholts said, checking her iPad.

  “If I go back twenty-three hours,” I said, trying to work out the timelines in my head. “That means that by the point I come back to real time, I’ll have lost the window to save Julie.”

  Dr. Anholts began rapidly tapping keys on her iPad. The screen at the front of the room flared to life and I was looking at a vivid image of the inside of the hotel room in DC. Ray was sitting on the couch in the living room, looking at me. She tapped some more keys and the view began running backwards at a very fast rate.

  “I’m streaming directly from your data chip, Mr. Whitman,” she explained. “How much farther back do I need to go?”

  I thought about it for a minute, trying to fix the images that were flashing on the screen to some point in the timeline.

  “Try twelve hours,” I said.

  She tapped some more and the rewind stopped. There was a blink and I watched as I fired a bullet into the side of my face. Well, not my face, but the face of the FBI agent that had tried to convince me he was another version of myself.

  “Oh,” Dr. Anholts exclaimed, turning a shade of white that didn’t look good.

  She froze the image after the camera swung away from the corpse and took a long, slow drink from a bottle of water.

  “How?” I asked, realizing something was wrong. “How did you record that? I was wearing this FBI jacket that I put on in the past. It can’t have cameras.”

  She looked at me, obviously trying to come up with an answer. Finally, she looked down at the table before speaking.

  “We haven’t been completely honest with you,” she began.

  “Doctor,” Carpenter interrupted, the warning clear in his tone.

  “Shhh,” she said. “He has the right to know. Mr. Whitman, the reason for the surgery to your eyes wasn’t to change their color. That can be done with contacts. It was to implant an interface that allows your data chip to record everything you see.”

  “What? Are you serious?” I was surprised, but not as much as I would have been before coming to work for these people.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. Cameras are too unreliable. Lenses can be damaged, or covered at a crucial moment. And what if the asset changes clothes? We would lose the ability to record what happens.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I breathed.

  I was upset, but recognized I didn’t have the luxury to worry about something that had already happened. There would be plenty of time to address this little topic once I saved Julie.

  “Fine, we’ll deal with this later. Right now, we need to figure this out.”

  “Of course,” Dr. Anholts said, sounding relieved. She resumed rewinding the video, stopping at an extreme close up of Julie’s face. The moment I’d kissed her as I left the hotel room. “This point is eleven hours and forty-five minutes before you returned to real time. You’ve been back thirty-one minutes. Twelve hours and sixteen minutes elapsed.”

  “And if I go back twenty-three hours to save the director, when I come back to real time that would only leave a forty-four-minute window for me to stop Julie’s killer. Maybe less. I don’t know the precise moment when she was murdered. This was the last time I saw her alive. I can’t save them both!”

  “Yes, you can!” Carpenter interjected. “When you stop Agent Johnson, you save the woman!”

  “If he’s the one who killed her,” I said.

  “Who else?” Carpenter asked.

  I shook my head, unable to answer the question.

  “Will you save the director and put an end to this?” Dr. Anholts asked after a short silence.

  “No.” I shook my head. “I won’t take the chance with Julie’s life. She’s an innocent. Didn’t go looking to be involved in this. I know the director didn’t deserve to die, but if there’s even a chance that Agent Johnson didn’t kill her, I can’t risk her life on going back so far I lose the opportunity to save her.”

  Dr. Anholts exchanged a look with Carpenter. After a moment, he nodded and turned back to me.

  “Very well, Mr. Whitman. We will send you back thirteen hours to DC. But you must be very careful and not come into direct contact with that version of yourself. The results could be disastrous.”

  52

  I arrived in a battleship grey, steel corridor. What the fuck? Looking around, I nearly screamed in rage. They had lied to me! Tricked me. Instead of sending me to save Julie, I was standing outside of Patterson’s office.

  They had pushed the issue. Made the decision for me. Now, I didn’t have a choice. Had to fully accept that Johnson was the killer. I couldn’t let him live. If I did, there was too great of a risk that Julie would die in a few hours. Goddamn it!

  With no options, I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down and think about what I had to do. Setting my watch for a five-minute countdown, I opened the door without knocking and stepped into the director’s office. It was empty and I headed for the entrance to his private quarters, pausing when I heard his voice. It sounded like he was speaking on the phone.

  Everything about this was still bothering me. The pieces of the puzzle fit together, especially with the video ordering Kirkpatrick to terminate me. Regardless, it felt more like someone had forced some of the jigsaw together with a mallet.

  I paused before proceeding to the director’s quarters, reviewing everything I knew and thought I knew. All of the evidence pointed at Johnson as part of the conspiracy. I remembered the mantra Carpenter had kept repeating before I’d been told I was being sent back to save Julie.

  “He’s a very deadly man. Don’t give him an opportunity. You have to take him out the instant he walks through the door or your chances go way down. If he gets his hands on you, or reaches a weapon, you are dead. An
d that means the director will die as well as the woman in DC.”

  He had reiterated the point as if I wasn’t smart enough to understand it the first time. Part of me, the ego I’d developed as my training progressed, wanted to dismiss his concerns. I’d trained for this. I could take him.

  Then I reminded myself that I’d only been doing this for six months, whereas Johnson had years of experience under his belt. Sure, I’d been in the Army. But I’d been an infantry soldier. Walk long distances and know how to shoot a rifle. That was pretty much the extent of the training invested in a run of the mill foot soldier.

  I’d learned a lot since arriving at the project facility, but when I thought about things honestly, Carpenter was right. I didn’t stand a chance against a seasoned warrior. I’d been reminded of that most recently on the sidewalk in DC when Ray had disabled me with only his thumb. If he could do that with a single finger, what could he, or Johnson, do if they really wanted to inflict damage?

  The door to Patterson’s quarters was ajar and I pushed it open, stepping through. He was seated on a leather sofa, a cup of coffee on a table at his side, speaking on a phone. When he saw me, his eyebrows went up for just an instant.

  “I need to call you back,” he said into the phone and disconnected the call.

  “Mr. Whitman. What has happened?”

  “Sir?”

  I had expected to be met with anger or indignation that I had entered his private space, uninvited. Instead, he was behaving as if this were a normal occurrence.

  “Here you are, standing in my private quarters, dressed in an FBI jacket with a weapon in your waistband. Not a difficult deduction on my part to surmise you have been sent back for some reason.”

  He picked up his coffee and took a small sip, watching me over the rim of the cup. I almost blushed under his scrutiny. The man was sharp as a tack. He’d taken one look at me, and despite the surprise of my unannounced entry, had the fortitude to analyze the situation. And arrive at an accurate assessment.

  “Your guess is right. I’ve been sent back. You will be murdered in,” I checked my watch. “Two minutes and forty-three seconds.”

  “And will you be the one pulling the trigger, Mr. Whitman?”

  “No, sir. Agent Johnson. There is a conspiracy involving him to assassinate the President. He’s already ordered my death, and killed the woman who helped me in California.”

  “Ms. Broussard?” He asked, eyebrows arching in surprise.

  “Yes, sir,” I nodded. “In a couple of minutes, he’s going to walk in here and shoot you in the back of the head. Then he boards a helicopter and flies to DC where he kills Julie. I’m here to stop him.”

  “I see,” he said, taking another sip of coffee. “And I suppose you’ve seen evidence to prove Agent Johnson’s guilt?”

  “Yes, sir. I have a flash drive, the one you gave me to take back to Agent Kirkpatrick. There’s a video on it of Agent Johnson ordering him to terminate me. There’s also the facility’s security footage of him walking in here, then leaving a couple of minutes later. No one else enters or leaves until your assistant finds your body eleven minutes later. Pretty damning evidence.”

  “I would agree,” he said, taking another sip of coffee.

  Why was he so fucking relaxed? Didn’t he understand what I was telling him? That someone was about to walk through his door and try to kill him. I checked my watch again. Fifty-three seconds until Johnson arrived.

  “Mr. Whitman, I believe you are sincere, and have seen compelling evidence of Agent Johnson’s guilt. However, I’m going to ask that you trust me. Here’s what I’d like you to do. Step into the bathroom, out of sight. Have your weapon ready. When he comes in, I trust that you will shoot him if he attempts to harm me in any way. If he does not attack me, please restrain yourself and do nothing.”

  I stood there looking at him for a long pause. Wondering if he knew more than he was letting on. He had to realize he was playing games with his life.

  Checking my watch again, I looked back up and met Patterson’s unwavering stare. Thirty seconds. Deciding to trust him, I moved quickly across the room and into a spacious bath. The light was off and I moved the door until it was half closed.

  I was completely concealed in the darkness, the pistol in my right hand. Raising it, I aimed at the door from the office into the quarters. The farthest point away from where I stood was no more than twenty feet. I was confident I could drill a round into Johnson’s head the instant he started to draw a weapon.

  Right on time there was a muted knock from the direction of the office. Patterson shouted permission to enter and I heard the clank of the steel door open, a moment later a thud as it was closed.

  “In here,” Patterson called.

  A moment later, Agent Johnson appeared and stepped into the living area. It took every ounce of restraint I possessed to not shoot him the instant my sights lined up on his head.

  “What can I do for you, Agent Johnson,” Patterson asked, still sipping the damn coffee.

  “Just checking in before I leave for Washington,” he said. “Any last minute instructions?”

  “No, I think we’ve covered everything quite well. Our Department Of Justice liaison will meet you when you arrive and provide some more insight on the meeting.”

  “Good. I’m looking forward to it. Well, I should be off. The helo is waiting.”

  Johnson turned and headed for the door. I didn’t understand what was going on. Why hadn’t he tried to shoot the director?

  “Oh, one more thing,” Patterson said as Johnson was passing through the door on his way out.

  “Sir?” He asked, turning.

  “If you would be so kind, can you delay your flight for a few minutes? I’d like you to go out to the helicopter and tell the pilot to stand by, then come back. Take your time doing it.”

  “What’s going on, Ian?” Johnson asked, eyes darting around the space.

  “I need you to trust me,” Patterson said. “Now, please go speak with the pilot. Come back in, shall we say, fifteen minutes?”

  Johnson squinted his eyes, staring hard at Patterson. After a few seconds he nodded his head, looked around the room again and left. When the outer door clanged shut behind him, I lowered my pistol and stepped out of the bathroom.

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  “I’ve known Agent Johnson for almost twenty-five years,” Patterson said. “I was his battalion commander in the Marines. As far as I’m concerned, there was never a question.”

  “Then who killed you?” I asked.

  “I suspect we’ll find out shortly,” he said calmly. “Now, if you’ll return to the bathroom and exhibit some patience, I’m sure the guilty party will be along shortly.”

  I nodded, despair setting in. It wasn’t Johnson. That meant I’d failed to save Julie. She was going to die because Dr. Anholts and Carpenter had lied to me and sent me to the wrong point in time! Anger surged and I thought about what I was going to do to them for their betrayal.

  First, I needed to put a stop to this. Maybe, when the murderer revealed himself, I could get enough information to send a warning to Julie. There was still time for that. Turning, I resumed my post behind the bathroom door. And waited. Checking my watch, I saw that the time for the assistant to walk in was almost there.

  It wasn’t long before there was a clang as the office door from the corridor opened again. There was a thud as the outer door closed, then a shadow passed across the opening from the quarters into the office. I was surprised when the director’s assistant walked in with a suppressed pistol in her hand.

  “You fucking bitch,” I said, stepping into the room.

  The pistol was gripped in both my hands, sights steady on her. She had frozen, looking up in surprise when I came into view. The pistol in her right hand was still pointed at the floor. If it so much as twitched, I was going to blow her fucking head off.

  My finger began to tighten on the trigger as I tried to decide if there
was any reason not to put her down like a rabid dog.

  “I see your surprise,” Patterson interjected, looking at her from where he sat on the sofa. “That’s the problem with playing with time. You think this is the first time you’ve done this. Sneaking in here to kill me and set up Agent Johnson. But, it’s not. It might be the second. Or possibly the twentieth. You see, the more we’re learning about how time actually works, the more possibilities we’re discovering.”

  “Why did you kill her?” I shouted, ignoring Patterson’s babbling.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “I was on my way back from the range and remembered I needed to discuss something with the director.”

  “With a suppressed pistol in your hand?” I scoffed. “Give me a break. You know who killed her. Or will kill her. Beat her first, then put a bullet in her head and leave her for me to find in that hotel room. Why? Trying to make her tell where I was?”

  “She can’t answer that question, Mr. Whitman. For her, it hasn’t happened yet. But she can tell us what her orders are and who’s giving them.”

  Patterson stood, careful to stay well clear of my line of fire. He came to stand near me, a large pistol held loosely in his hand. Where the hell had he been hiding that?

  “I know who’s giving the orders,” I said. “It’s Carpenter.”

  The assistant’s eyes widened slightly, for just an instant, confirming I was correct.

  “I’m well aware of Mr. Carpenter’s betrayal,” Patterson said. “I’ve left him alone, hoping to use him to lead me to the real architects of the conspiracy. Unfortunately, it seems as if I’ve underestimated them and they decided I was an impediment to their plans.”

  “What about Johnson?” I asked. “Why do they want me to kill him?”

  There was a clang as the outer door opened and closed. A moment later, Agent Johnson appeared in the entrance to the director’s quarters, immediately drawing his weapon when he saw our little tableau.

  “Please take Ms. Silas into custody,” Patterson said. “And when she is properly secured, detain Mr. Carpenter.”