6:30 PM – PDT
Five scientists, one reporter, one former astronaut, and one retired Secret Service agent had spent all afternoon discussing the mission and the events leading up to it. In turn, each person described his or her backstory and initiation into the group. Iggy, Sera, and Jay explained the intricacies of the Anti-Matter project and the discovery of Anti-Time, and their inspiration to use it to save Jackie K. Quin easily accepted their assertions, while Sam required more convincing. Predictably, he argued with Frank and the others, challenging the validity of their assumptions. He demanded extensive details on the time experiments and complex mathematics. Charts and diagrams were drawn. Sam even brought in a white board from his lab to illustrate his counter-theories.
Frustrated by the hours wasted in an academic seminar, Dee finally pleaded with Iggy to simply show them. Also weary, Bick wholeheartedly supported her. Similar to the demonstration at Dee’s apartment, they jumped an object one two-thousandths of a second to the future. Frank had requested Sam’s watch, but the aerospace engineer saw through the ploy immediately. In the end, they went outside and used a glass coke bottle. After Iggy hit the converter, the bottle plummeted spectacularly, kicking up the dusty earth in a puff of smoke while soda gushed out like a geyser.
Elated by the successful demonstration, Quin grabbed Iggy around both arms in a tight bear hug, picked her up, and spun her three-sixty. “Yee-Ha! Space. Can’t wait to get back.” Smiling, he gingerly placed her on the ground, but was troubled to realize she appeared discomfited.
Iggy eyed Sam warily, as if expecting a corollary reaction.
Sam straightened his shirt with dignity. “I see what you mean about the tourist submersible. We can finish it up and retrofit it for space travel, but it’s still going to need a lot of work.” Begrudgingly, he had become a proponent of the project, perhaps even more so than Quin.
Iggy attempted to recover her poise. “I’m pleased both of you want to volunteer to join us. We were going to extend the invitation anyway.”
“Absolutely.” Quin tipped a make-believe hat to Iggy, trying to redeem himself. “Thank you for including us, ma’am.”
Sera glared. “The vote wasn’t unanimous, flyboy.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 2013
9:00 AM – PDT
After breakfast, Dee grabbed her camera and followed the nascent team to the Eureka Ranch boathouse. The morning sun streamed in through the skylights, glinting on the time-travel transport as they admired it again.
Dee circled the wooden platform, snapping pictures. “Hey, what luck! There are eight windows. One for each of us.”
“Portholes.” Sam corrected. “Designed to maximize the number of viewports for tourists while minimizing hull stress.”
Dee turned abruptly, swinging her red curls in a defiant flip as she climbed up to the platform.
Ignoring the discord, the others spread out around the metallic ship’s circumference and hoisted themselves up, each peering through a different pane of glass.
Dee observed a partly constructed ceiling seven feet from the sub’s main floor, allowing adequate workspace for the crew. A ladder in the middle led up to a circular opening, ostensibly an airlock egress for the hatch. Under one porthole was a console with the rudiments of steering controls.
Sam mentioned that the bottom compartment housed a ballast tank to be filled with water when submerging. An air compression pump would expel the liquid weight to surface. “Not that it matters much in space.”
Iggy added, “Still, it might come in handy.”
Jay raised his eyebrows. He jumped down and snatched a clipboard, ready to assume his Project Manager persona. “We’re in pretty good shape. Obviously, this submersible is well on its way. But we’re going to need a lot of additions and modifications. I suggest a haves and needs analysis.” He began by prompting Sam to enumerate the systems already installed.
Beyond ballast, Sam had included oxygen tanks and ocean propulsion. He boasted that four-inch-thick glass covered the portholes so the windows could withstand depths of up to one thousand feet.
Dee glared at him at the mention of windows, but Sam appeared unfazed. He smiled in the manner of a contented person. Of course. He’d soon be embarking on a lifetime dream.
The group chimed in as Jay led the discussion on various additional requirements. He jotted a list, roughly mapping out a priority order. Despite Frank’s reticence to join them, he seemed excited about the prospect of replicating his O2 and H2O recycling apparatus.
Realizing she could focus her talents more productively, Dee quietly sat down at a workbench, dug into a suitcase, and pulled out reference materials on Jackie K. She turned the radio to low volume, splayed out her books, and began to study.
Quin swaggered over to the porthole outside the uncompleted pilot’s station. “I’m gonna need ship manipulation within easy reach.” He moved imaginary levers with both hands. “Attitude on my left and steering on my right.”
The satisfied smile wilted from Sam’s face. “I beg your pardon?”
Dee glanced up to see the others grimace at his frosty tone.
Oblivious, Quin kept flying his invisible ship. “Pilot controls, slick. Pilot controls.”
“Right. But they will be my controls. Clearly, I will be commander.”
“Whoa there, fella. Who’s the crackerjack astronaut? I’m the man for the job.” Quin jabbed a thumb at his own sternum as he hopped off the platform.
Sam marched toward him and squared his shoulders. “This is completely unacceptable. What makes you think you can take over command of my ship?”
Iggy barged between them, tamping down the urge to stiffen her arms and place a palm on each man’s chest. “Let’s hash this out as a team. Surely we can work out a compromise.”
As Sam and Quin glowered at each other, Dee startled everyone by speaking up from her research table. “Bick should be commander. He flew the most sophisticated combat aircraft in the world for the Navy, and achieved fighter ace status in the Stale War. Why, he created the Kiffin Maneuver!”
This dramatic pronouncement jolted Quin and Sam from their feud, and they turned to Bick in shock and jealousy.
Sam managed to croak out a few words. “That tactic saved Seattle in ’88. If the Russians had won the battle, the US would have been launched into another all-out war.”
Bick shifted his gaze downward.
“Uh, guys.” Jay turned up the radio. “Sorry to interrupt, but with that in mind we should probably listen to this live announcement.”
The new Soviet ruler barked hostile threats over the airwaves. “The USSR believes without a doubt that the US is responsible for the atrocious assassination of our beloved former premier. We are one hundred percent positive evidence will be uncovered in support of this fact. Once it is proven, we will retaliate with all the force at our disposal. The American president cannot hide from our wrath.”
The time travelers regarded each other in dismay.
9:10 AM – PDT
Their vocal cords failed the fugitives as they contemplated the dire report.
Jay clicked off the news, rendering the boathouse silent except for the splash of waves gently breaking on the bay.
Sera navigated them back to the conversation. “Kiffin Maneuver? What’s that?”
Quin leapt in with spontaneous enthusiasm before Bick could respond. “The Kiffin Maneuver was a kick-ass fighter pilot tactic. Simple, but kick-ass, man! Picture several bogeys engaging you head on. Your squadron has two lead planes with two wingmen chasing them.” He glided both hands forward as if they were flying. “The enemy expects a full-on assault. But at the last second, foom!” he dropped his hands abruptly. “The leads descend, and I mean fast. Pretty risky because it can throw you into a nosedive. The wingmen simultaneously ascend, foop!”—Quin raised both hands rapidly—“so the opposition doesn’t know what the hell is happening or which set of planes to attack. The wings fire at the bandits from a
bove.” He pointed his fingers into guns. “Rat a tat tat tat tat! Boom!” His hands fanned out in a pretend explosion. “Blown away before they even know what hit ‘em.”
Dee straightened with pride. “Bick was Kiffin’s wingman, and he orchestrated the maneuver.”
“Good one, Bick!” Quin slapped his shoulder in congratulations.
“Forgive me.” Jay tapped his clipboard with his pen. “But why isn’t it called the Haycock Maneuver?”
Bick pressed his lips together wryly. “You know how these things work. The squadron boss gets the credit. Besides, my name just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”
“So you see, Bick will be an excellent commander,” Dee summed up, as if adding two and two.
“Wait a minute.” Sera stepped forward, waving her arms laterally like an umpire declaring safe. “This is all wrong. Yes, we need a kick-ass pilot, but we also need someone to be in charge. A leader.”
Bick nodded. “A captain. The way the Navy runs it. The captain gives orders and the crew—including the pilot—follows those orders. You Air Force guys are totally off base.”
“No way.” Quin shook his head. “The commander is in charge and the commander flies the bird.”
“I agree with Sera.” Jay squinted in thought. “You need to separate the command decision from the execution of the command.”
“Exactly. And I nominate Iggy to be captain.”
Iggy looked up, floored by Bick’s vote of confidence.
Sam had stood by fuming, but he finally spoke up. “I will be the commander. Let us not forget we are using my ship. I know it intimately. Every bolt and every rivet were connected by me. You can skip this nonsense about captain.”
Sera waited a beat. Was he threatening to take his bat and ball and go home?
“I should be in charge.”
Sera slumped at the sound of Frank’s whine.
“Without me, none of you would be here. You three”—he gestured to Sera, Iggy, and Jay—“would be rotting in a cell. The rest of you would never have heard of this crazy mission.” His voice rose a couple of octaves. “In fact, my guiding hands brought all of you together!”
“Guiding hands?” Sera repeated incredulously.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Prof,” Quin drawled good-naturedly, “you ain’t even in the running.”
Sera ignored them. “We need a captain, and Iggy is the only logical option.” She saw Sam roll his eyes. “It’s not nonsense, Sam. We need a leader, and you won’t find a more effective one. Without Iggy, we wouldn’t have discovered time travel. She invented the containment device that ultimately generated Anti-Time. She’s the foremost Anti-Matter specialist in the world. And who’s a better decision maker?” Sera scanned the room in mock wonderment.
“You have to admit Iggy makes rational choices based on facts. Whereas the rest of us get caught up in our, um . . .” Jay faltered “. . . emotions.”
Sera sighed as everyone started talking at once, each person trying to drown out the others in an effort to be heard. A consensus appeared unlikely.
10:00 AM – PDT
8:00 PM – EEDT
Back home in Minsk, the Soviet operative was prepared and composed, as usual. When they called his name, he gathered his reams of notes and his brief presentation on the data files stolen from the Secaucus research facility. He strode to the dais and surveyed the audience. KGB superiors, top scientists, and critically, the premier himself, sat before him.
The spy explained that the Americans had made significant advancements toward building a viable Anti-Matter weapon. He projected a series of schematics showing the progress made by the inmate physicists, Iggy Mikos and Sera Banks. The crowd gasped and murmured as they absorbed the information, realizing its potential for an incredibly powerful bomb that could obliterate half the continent. A few minutes later, the operative finished his speech and returned to his seat, not allowing an opportunity for questions. There was nothing more to say.
The premier stood, took over the podium, and demanded silence. He vowed the US would never get the opportunity to use this devastating country-killer against the peaceful people of the USSR. The capitalists would pay with their lives for the assassination of the previous Russian leader. He swiftly appointed a task force of the most talented scientific minds in the republic and promised them every resource necessary to ensure that the Kremlin would construct the terrible weapon first.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 2013
10:15 AM – PDT
Sera had to prod Iggy twice before she clambered onto the platform surrounding the ship to address the crew. Despite the apparent disinclination, Sera knew her mentor felt honored.
“It is my privilege to accept the position of captain on this historic mission.” Iggy gave a slight bow. “I pledge to do my utmost to ensure the safety and success of our endeavors.” She made eye contact with each team member in turn. “My gratitude is humbly offered to each one of you for your faith and confidence in me.”
Sera grinned at the white lie. In fact, they had quarreled vehemently for the past hour about who should lead. Ultimately, everyone had been swayed by Sera, Jay, and Bick’s persuasive arguments. Nobody could deny Iggy’s diplomacy, as evidenced here. Except Frank, who sat sullen next to the workbench. Again.
Glossing over Frank’s pout, Iggy adopted a playful tone. “Well, now that I have been elected captain, what is it I am captain of exactly?”
“What do you mean?” Sera looked at her, nonplussed.
“I get it.” Bick turned to Sam. “Does this vessel have a name?”
“No, not as such. I hadn’t considered it yet.”
“How about The Jackie K?” Dee leapt up onto the wooden support and reverently touched the convex hull. “That’s our goal, isn’t it? To save her.”
“If you stop to think about it, the KGB were trying to assassinate JFK.” Jay pulled off his glasses. “So why don’t we pay homage to him? The John F. Kennedy.”
The submersible builder was adamant. “Absolutely not. I will not refer to my creation in the name of that, that animal who pushed the button.”
“Okay, okay, understood.” Jay backed away, holding his hands in front of him as if in surrender.
Sera wanted to infuse some optimism, but spoke hesitantly. “We’re trying to change destiny. How about The New Hope?”
Quin raised his brows. “So much for the frigid exterior, Sera. I reckon maybe you are human.”
She cursed him under her breath.
“It’s obvious.” Frank folded his arms. “The ship should be called the Tempus Fugit.”
Bick responded with forced patience. “The Time Flies?”
“Well, yes, it’s accurate, isn’t it?”
They all exploded in hysterics, except Sam, who remained pensive. “I have always called it The Orb. So building on Frank’s suggestion, how about the Tempus Orbis?”
The whole entourage burst into applause.
“The Tempus Orbis it is!” The captain celebrated the new moniker. “I believe we should christen it.”
“You can’t christen a ship until it’s fully operational,” Sam objected.
“So what? We’re having a moment here. Surely you have some California champagne in this house.”
Sera could see Sam’s feigned reluctance. His pride showed through at having named his progeny.
“Oh all right. I’ll check the wine cellar.”
11:15 AM – PDT
2:15 PM – EDT
Exhausted, Captain Sutherland slouched in his desk chair at the Secaucus Research Installation. But the red-eye from Vegas hadn’t caused his fatigue. He was reeling from the browbeating inflicted by the Colonel after their dead end at the hangar. The near constant barrage had depleted the officer of all resilience, and fear began to take root. He tried to calm down and assess his current situation. The brass weren’t aware of the breakout, but eventually they would discover that the project had sl
ammed to a halt due to the absence of their key scientists. A severe penalty loomed for both Zimmerman and Sutherland. The worst fate anyone could possibly imagine awaited—banishment to the Alaskan front.
Although people referred to the conflict as the Stale War, it remained active on the Bering Strait in Nome, an excellent strategic point from which to launch attacks. The Soviets occupied the city and had established a military fortress on the edge of the sea. Proximity to the motherland meant freighters could transport supplies across the strait, at least during the few months when the waters weren’t frozen solid. The enemy policed the passageway in order to prevent shipments and tankers from reaching oil-rich Prudhoe Bay in North Slope, Alaska. The Americans repeatedly attempted to reclaim the installation for the states. With no road access to the tiny burg, operatives parachuted down in covert expeditions, but the commies routinely targeted and defeated them. The most dangerous post in existence, the government assigned only those who had failed Uncle Sam spectacularly. In truth, it was a death sentence.
Sutherland couldn’t believe that the US hadn’t won a decisive victory in the five decades since Jackie Kennedy’s assassination in November of 1963. He mentally catalogued the sequence of events every kid learned by rote in school.
Although a comrade had been captured at the scene of the crime, the Russians had vigorously denied any involvement in the botched conspiracy to kill JFK. But it was no secret the strike bore the stamp of the KGB. The spy in custody demonstrated extreme resistance to torture and never cracked. Two months later, the CIA hit pay dirt when they hunted down another culprit who had escaped to the Soviet Embassy in Mexico City. In the course of the raid, several Ruskies were neutralized. That’s when the violence started to escalate.
In retaliation for the embassy fiasco, a Russian submarine sank an American aircraft carrier, the USS FDR, off the coast of Virginia in early January of ’64. Responding swiftly, Kennedy ordered the invasion of Cuba because he was panicked it would be used as a Soviet staging ground to wage war on the US. It seemed an obvious preemptive move, considering Khrushchev had used Cuba in his aggression against the Stars and Stripes during the Missile Crisis of October ’62. The Americans took over the pint-sized country and annexed it as territory, while a humiliated Fidel Castro fled in a private plane headed for the USSR. That incident led to the Nome assault.
Destination Dealey: Countdown to the Kennedy Conspiracy Page 10
