by Gene P. Abel
“Claire,” Ben asked, “are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just a little chill. It’s evening and I don’t have a jacket on. Now, about those answers.”
Agent Hessman caught the professor’s eye, to which Ben removed his pocket computer and began tapping the controls.
“Like that for instance,” Claire gestured. “I’ve never even heard of anything like it.”
When he found what he was looking for, he sighed and replied to Agent Hessman with a single slow shake of his head. Agent Hessman responded with a tersely worded command before he and Agent Harris turned away. “Explain it to her.”
Ben watched as the pair entered the lobby to head for the roof, then turned back to see a determined reporter glaring straight at him. He glanced over to the captain, Dr. Weiss, and the German, who all backed away, leaving him alone with Claire.
“Well?” she asked.
“Claire, what I’ve told you so far has been the absolute truth . . . just not all of it. Yes, we’re federal agents and I am a history consultant . . . but from over a century from now. My specialty is the history of the early twentieth century, what you call the Great War and the decades thereafter. These devices you’ve seen, Sue’s futuristic handgun, all of them are from the future. I was never in the war because my grandmother hasn’t even been born yet.”
She found herself once again speechless, though more for being unsure which of many questions to ask. “Why? How? I mean, I guess I believe you. I have to after seeing those bodies disappear like that. Is that how you got rid of the others? Just disintegrated them or something?”
“That’s not quite what happened. Sam could give you a better explanation, but basically the time machine we use does not project back our actual bodies but rather duplicates of them, maintained by a sort of energy conduit back through the portal to our own time. A traveler’s consciousness then hitches a ride back into such a projected body. Those devices we activated were their beacons that maintain the connection through the energy conduit. Shut them off and the connection terminates, dissolving the projection and drawing the consciousness back into the traveler’s original body in the time machine chamber.”
“But, does that mean they might still be alive?”
“We’re not quite sure on that matter,” he admitted. “This is our first trip back in time; their consciousnesses may have snapped back to their original bodies, or they may have gone to wherever they would go upon a normal death. We won’t know until we return ourselves.”
“Astounding! Then this important mission of yours—”
“We detected a TDW; that’s a temporal displacement wave. It means that someone else traveled back in time and caused a major disruption to what we know of as history. In this case, it was the Germans followed by the Japanese. We didn’t know the nature or extent of this disruption, just that it happened.”
“So that’s why you had to come back here,” she said, “to find out what happened, then prevent it from happening. You said that you didn’t know who had done what. This is why. Then this device in your hand—”
“A pocket computer. You have basic computing devices in this time. Well, this is something like that, only many orders of magnitude more advanced. This simple little device contains all we have on record of this time period. I use it to supplement my own knowledge of this time period. I could fit the contents of the Library of Congress in what you see me holding in my hand.”
The word dumbfounded would fail to adequately describe Claire’s expression, with her mouth moving but little coming out. He showed her the device and passed a finger across it to show her screens of information passing by before her. Miniature pictures of old newspaper articles, images from the World War I battlefield, photographs of New York City at the turn of the century. When he took it back to press another icon in private, she could only gasp and sputter for a second or two.
“Again, astounding. I don’t know what else to say. But aren’t you afraid I might tell someone? I’m a reporter, after all, and this is the biggest story that—well, anyone has ever come across.”
“Even if someone were to believe you—which you’ll have to admit is a far-fetched chance in itself—there is this.”
He turned the device back around for her to see what was now displayed. It was an obituary with her picture on it . . . and a date not all that far in the future. For a moment she could only gape while he continued.
“That cough of yours, and now the chill. It doesn’t look bad right now, but . . . Claire, like your hero Nellie Bly, you will die of pneumonia. Two full years before she does.”
“Pneumonia,” she gasped. “But it’s just a cough. The chill night air.”
“And the influenza outbreak of this period. Here in 1919, it’s fatal.”
“And . . . in your century?”
She looked up at him with pleading eyes, her whole demeanor thunderstruck. He felt for her, he really did, but he knew before he’d left for this mission that everyone back in this time period had already died.
“Curable if treated in time,” he answered.
He shut off his pocket computer and put it away, not sure what else he could say. He wanted to comfort her, to offer some gleam of hope, but what? Before he could say a word, however, she reached her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.
32
The Next Step
Agents Harris and Hessman made it to the roof by way of more traditional methods than a fire escape climb and a jump from an adjoining building. Agent Harris showed Agent Hessman where she had seen the sniper, and Hessman bent down to examine the area. He found bullet casings, strips of cloth, and some blood splatter. “Powder burns along the wall and on the cloth, and the blood splatter . . . It looks like you got him, all right. By the time you made it up here, he was able to give himself some quick first aid before escaping.”
“I could tell he was wounded,” she admitted, “but that didn’t stop him from running. I know my shot flipped the rifle out of his hands, but that’s it.”
“From the only angle you would have had from the ground, you could have gotten him in the hand or arm. Alternatively, you hit the gun itself and the impact caused the damage, which means that he could also have a sprained wrist.” He pocketed the cloth and fingered the shell casings. “In this primitive age,” he continued, “there’s nothing to easily trace where others like these might be.”
“Not to mention that was a modern sniper rifle he used,” she pointed out. “We know exactly where it came from and that no one else in this period possesses one, but that doesn’t do a thing to help us.”
“Agreed.” He passed the shell casings to Agent Harris, who pocketed them. He shook his head. “Besides, it’s a bomb we need to trace now. Or at least the people holding it. Any ideas?”
“I’m just the muscle,” she replied. “You’ll want to bring this up to the rest of the team. I can tell you that if it’s plastique, and assuming that one body wasn’t the only guy with a sample of the stuff, then it’s on their persons right now. If this was back in our time, we could break out a bomb sniffer to try to trace its location, but even that would be highly problematic in a city of millions.”
“Agreed. Let’s get back down.”
After the long walk down the stairwell, as they rejoined Dr. Weiss and Captain Beck outside the building’s lobby, they caught sight of Claire pulling away from Professor Stein to wander off in the general direction of city hall.
“He told her everything,” the captain said to the other two. “Including that she’s only got a few months to live.”
Agent Hessman sighed. “It had to be done,” he said. “But on the matter of more practical considerations, Sam, do you think that—”
“Should be no disruptions to our timeline,” Dr. Weiss replied. “No one will believe such a fantastic story, and she’
ll be dead soon anyway. It sounds harsh, but . . .”
“I know,” Agent Hessman said, “but all these people we’ve encountered are dead already, from our point of view.”
Ben rejoined them, nodding to Agent Hessman as he neared. “Find anything?”
“Nothing useful,” Agent Hessman replied. “How’s your girlfriend?”
“Feeling a little lost,” Ben said. “She says she just needs some time to take it all. And she’s not my girlfriend.”
“Are you sure she knows that?” Dr. Weiss asked with a grin.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Ben replied. “Mission aside, I’ll have to leave her behind anyway. I’m not going to do anything that might interfere with history, even if it means—I mean, there’s nothing between us.”
“Uh-huh,” Agent Hessman said evenly. “Ben, I’m the detective, remember? Sam?”
“She’s had the hots for him since Steeplechase,” Dr. Weiss replied.
“Earlier than that, I’d think,” Captain Beck added.
“The BRT ride,” Agent Harris stated. “She switched seats to be next to you.”
“She was simply,” Ben began, “expressing a reporter’s normal curiosity about—”
“Interested,” Agent Harris stated flatly.
“Now cut that out, all of you,” Ben protested.
“Okay, enough of that,” Agent Hessman told them. “Back to business. Our problem is to trace where the Japanese team may be placing a bomb. City hall is out; after the ruckus, local security will be all over that place. Even a team from the future wouldn’t be able to get in.”
“That doesn’t mean that either team is going to stop, though,” Captain Beck said.
“Agreed,” Agent Hessman stated. “So where does that leave us? Where else might they try to plant a bomb?”
“Maybe we don’t have to find where the other teams took off to,” Ernst now suggested. “We know that Major Greber’s own personal mission is to stop both my team and the Japanese team. Find him, and we find the others.”
“An excellent suggestion, Ernst,” Agent Hessman agreed. “So where would our rogue friend go hunting?”
They discussed the matter for several minutes, each person floating an idea about where the teams might be, or at least where Major Greber might be looking for them. The problem was that the city of New York, even in 1919, presented too many possibilities. They were still deep in discussion when a far more spritely Claire Hill came walking confidently back to join them.
“Well, come on,” she cut in. “We’ve got a bombing to stop.”
“Miss Hill?” Agent Hessman wasn’t sure whether to question her statement or her abrupt change in attitude first. “I’m afraid that we—”
“A good reporter uses whatever is at her disposal to get her story,” she quoted. “A woman reporter particularly so.”
“Claire,” Ben began, “I’m not sure that I—”
She grinned. “And if that includes using the fact that you’re dying of pneumonia as a sob story to get a line on the best story of the century, then so be it.”
“Miss Hill,” Agent Hessman said with rapidly growing interest, “I’ve the strangest feeling that I’m going to want to hug you. What’d you find out?”
“Oh, not much,” she said, shrugging. “Just that city hall isn’t where the actual meeting is supposed to take place, just where the dignitaries are assembling before moving off to the real location. They’ll be traveling by convoy—police, military vehicles, the works—to where President Wilson is going to speak with them.”
“And where would that be?” Captain Beck asked.
“That part’s super secret,” she replied. “I couldn’t get it, but I can tell you that the route crosses the Brooklyn Bridge.”
She finished with a victorious smirk, to which Agent Hessman replied, with an agreeing nod, “Which would be a perfect place for a bomb. The site of such a high-level meeting would have far too much security for any sort of covert team to get through, but planting something beneath a bridge along the way would be the perfect solution.”
“It appears,” Ernst interjected with a grin, “that your recruitment of the local talent worked out a lot better than it did for my team and the street gang.”
“A modern-day bomb is not something anyone from this era will be able to see or detect,” Agent Harris added. “Speaking as an expert, they could mold that plastique to look like part of the girders or something. Nothing about it would stand out like a few sticks of dynamite would. They’ll drive right over.”
“Then no more bridge, no more dignitaries, no more world as we know it,” Professor Stein said. “It would be catastrophic.”
“Then we need to get there now,” Agent Hessman stated. “Miss Hill, what is the fastest way there?”
“Really?” she said, her head slightly tilted. “Have any of you people been to New York in any time period? The pedestrian walkway’s literally around the corner and down the block. If we jog real fast, we might be able to get there in a few minutes.”
“Then lead the way,” Agent Hessman told her. “Sue, stay extra alert.”
Claire took a step back, then came back to grab hold of Ben’s hand to pull him along with her as she led the way quickly down the street.
Dr. Weiss couldn’t help but smirk at Ben’s expense.
33
Mad Dash
Am I ugly?” Claire asked Ben as she pulled him along ahead of the others, Agent Harris a step behind them keeping an eagle eye on their surrounds with the others in turn behind him. They managed a swift walk without running, since that might arouse the suspicions of an already-alert local police force.
“What? Claire, I’m not sure I get what—”
“Because I’ve been sending signals since that first train ride. Or don’t you people from the future know how to read people anymore? No, it’s gotta be the fact that you’re an academic; no other explanation. Emotionally blind, the lot of them.”
“Claire, are you s-saying that—”
“It’s like you purposefully hold back from being more affectionate. Is that because of the importance of this mission of yours, or because you know you’re just going to have to leave me behind? Of course, now that we both know I’m dying, that should change something. Does it change anything, Ben? At the least it means I’m running out of time.”
“C-Claire, I’m not sure what to say.”
“It’s not what you’re supposed to say,” she replied.
They briskly rounded a corner, nearly bumping into a tipsy man coming out of a local bar as Ben stammered. The tipsy man took one look at the two of them and grinned. “Kiss her, you fool.” The man then staggered away, leaving Ben for a moment confused before Claire once again pulled him along.
“I’m a reporter, and that means I have some skills at reading people. You’ve had more than a passing interest in me, but I couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t say anything. I assumed it was because you were trying to keep your mind on this important mission of yours, and that afterward I might have a chance to get to know you a lot better. But then I find out when you’re really from, and that puts a new angle to the situation. You didn’t want to get involved with someone who was a part of history. I get that; didn’t want to mess up the timeline. But now we know that I’m not about to be a part of history because I have no future. So where’s that put us now?”
They stopped for a moment, somewhere far behind them a huffing Dr. Weiss struggling to catch up. As Claire had led the one-sided discussion, the pace of not only her words but also her footsteps had increased until her walk had bordered on a fast jog. Agent Harris had managed to keep up with them, Ernst not too far behind her, but Captain Beck was helping along a fatigued Dr. Weiss with his one good arm, while Agent Hessman found himself uncomfortably alone midway between the two extre
mes. Now Professor Stein found himself on a street corner with Claire glaring at him.
What he wasn’t sure of, and what made him most uncomfortable, was whether the person looking at him was the determined reporter or the pretty young woman. “Claire,” he began, “you are . . . even for my century, you are a rare woman. A very outspoken and determined woman, particularly for—how old are you again?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Only twenty-four?” He gasped. “And you’re already—I think the standards of my century have definitely slipped a little.”
For that he earned a brief smirk, Claire was back to her same determined mask.
“I’m not sure what to say.”
“Not used to forward women in your century? I admit it’s rare and considered unseemly in this century.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that . . . I don’t know.”
For a moment they simply stared at one another. He saw the fire in her eyes, the passion waiting to boil. She saw the longing in his, held in check by restraint, duty, and uncertainty. She saw his intelligence, his pleasant features and good physical shape, but something else as well. “Oh my God,” she said quietly. “You’re a virgin.”
Ben could do little more than stutter in reply. Then the moment was interrupted by the intrusion of another, several others in fact. Agent Hessman came up, leading the captain and Dr. Weiss, while Agent Harris and Ernst held the middle ground until the gap between them closed.
“I definitely wasn’t expecting this much running for this mission,” Dr. Weiss remarked as he joined the rest.
“Sue,” Agent Hessman asked, “where are we?”
“Bridge and waterfront straight ahead,” she replied. “We just have to get across the street.”
They stood at a corner, ahead of them a wide stretch of pavement crossed by Model Ts and similar old-styled cars, the occasional horse-drawn taxi, a scattering of pedestrians going on about their evening’s enjoyment, and a skyline that was already sporting the rise of several taller buildings. Beyond the highway, though, was a park, and beyond the park a stretch of water that ran almost as far across as it seemed to go from side to side. What loomed before them, however, held their interest.
