Time Crossers 01: The Final Six Days

by Agster, Joe

  Friend adds on, finally putting it together. “When I first approached him about the bunker cards, it prompted Max to use the device to call the FEMA agent. That must have tipped them off; they connected the prepaid device to the agent. Hence they stormed us at the lounge at 19 hundred, three hours earlier than usual.”

  “So what about this particular iteration? What went wrong?” Cassie wonders.

  “He gave me the device turned off. Once I arrived at the Sparq I turned it back on and discarded it in the bushes. That bought us some time, but agents must have eventually accessed surveillance footage at the Uvia and confirmed he was staying at that hotel. When I returned later at 21 hundred to meet him, I spotted FBI agents conversing with hotel security. They must have then spotted us on camera when we attempted to relocate to the Metropolitan, to hide out in your room. Within an hour they tracked us to your room.”

  Cassie contemplates everything he just explained. The wheels are turning profusely in her head. Friend knows, because she crinkles her forehead in a cute certain way when she goes into thinking mode, something he’s noticed about her right away. After a few seconds the cringle fades away.

  “Send him a warning,” she explains. “A message to his device. Address it to him using his name. Tell him he is being tracked and to ditch the device right away. You have the number for it, correct?”

  Friend nods in affirmation. That ability to remember everything comes in handy.

  “This solves that problem, but eventually they will spot me with him. Then, you. The FBI lead agent, Stewart, told me that Max has information so top secret, so critical that they will kill anyone who makes contact with him.”

  Cassie details the plan. “Avoid being spotted with him as much as you can. When you’re at his hotel, wear a disguise of some sort. Don’t go to his room. Instead, try to meet him at his car when he arrives. Surveillance in the parking areas are spotty, they care way more about the casino. After you make contact with him, tell him to drop off the envelope somewhere secret, somewhere safe. As long as he ditches the prepaid device before hitting the road, it should buy him and us several hours, if not a whole day. You have the luxury of not having an identity, so as long as they don’t connect you to us, we should be fine.”

  “Somewhere safe for the envelope? Where?”

  “A public bathroom, somewhere away from the hotel. Maybe at the Sparq.”

  “So far, a well laid out plan. But what about you Cassie? You will take some convincing.”

  “Go to my room, sometime before 18:30. We’ll be there just after dinner. Tell me what you told me about my father. Tell me my father sent you. Look right into my eyes. I’ll believe you, I promise.”

  Friend feels complete. Her brilliant mind and worldly knowledge is such an asset. He hopes what she is saying is right, about what to tell her. He’d hate to go to all this trouble, to have her reject him again. Cassie, meanwhile, senses this reservation he has about what she just told him. She seeks to assure him by telling him one final thing.

  “I have something else to tell you,” she speaks before pausing. “… I noticed you. Do you remember when you left the club as I was walking in? I felt the weight of your presence. When I saw you later in my room, I became unusually calm after a few moments, something I wouldn’t normally do. So trust yourself, Friend, trust that you can… no, that you will connect with me the next time.”

  She plants a slow, memorable kiss on his lips. They continue their long walk in the cold, dry air, now silent for a few minutes. She doses back off, holding his arm. So we now have a complete plan, Friend thinks gleefully to himself.

  As the hours turn to minutes, the group basks in the festivities. Friend remains reserved, as he has lived through this final day so many times and would rather be putting the plan into motion in the next iteration. Besides, the rite of being immolated by the asteroid to cross into the next set of days can be tiresome. There are very few people who would enjoy burnt to death every six days. But, he is mostly satisfied that for the first time he has been able to connect with Cassie across iterations, as if their bond is now timeless.

  10

  Iteration 6

  Talking about it is one thing, doing it is another. But Friend is filled with hope, knowing that the goal is in reach. This second connection with Cassie is in a way more gratifying than the first, since she revealed that she can feel his presence. They were able to connect again, albeit with her friends tagging along. He was able to learn more from her, even with the relationship much more platonic.

  The first part of the plan is to notify Max on his prepaid device. As Friend has learned so far, Max spent the night in L.A. after arriving late last night via plane, but he doesn’t purchase a prepaid device until about 10:00 this morning. He spends the next hour or so at a café getting coffee, using his device to catch up on business, so the trick is to send the text message just before 11:00 when he finally departs for Las Vegas.

  Cassie suggested borrowing someone’s device to send the message. Friend figures the best way to do that is on the train. After studying its passengers over several iterations he has just the person in mind. The only issue is he has to wait until close to 11:00 before sending the message, and the woman who he plans on asking gets off at the downtown depot at 10:14. So he intends to follow her off the train.

  Friend makes his way to the Mini Mart to buy some water and the train ticket, then over to the train depot to board the train. He spots the woman who he plans on asking, Sarah. She is young, dressed in a uniform, headed to her place of employment, another casino in the downtown district. In the brief conversations with her before he’s learned she hates her job as a casino hostess. She wants to be a hair stylist, hopefully someday soon. She loves playing on her device, spending her time on it for most of the train ride.

  On the train Friend makes some small talk with her, relearning her hatred for her job among other things. As they arrive in the downtown station, Friend follows her cautiously, trying not to frighten her. He approaches her while she walks on the public street, away from any stationary camera.

  “Hi Sarah!” Friend reads her name from her badge. “Sorry to bother you. Can I quickly borrow your phone to send a message to my friend? It’s very urgent. Someone stole my device.”

  “I’m so sorry, please go ahead.” she replies, handing it over but keeping a close eye.

  Friend realizes he is getting good at getting what he wants out of people, although he isn’t too proud of it. He accesses the messaging screen, then dials in Max’s prepaid number.

  Max. You are being tracked. Ditch this phone. Do not reply.

  Friend types and sends it. Once the message is confirmed sent, he then quickly deletes the message from the device, to avoid arousing suspicion in her. He returns it, wishing her luck with her hair styling career, flattering her perfectly even though the topic was never brought up.

  The second part of the plan consists of buying two sets of clothes, one for the Uvia, and another for everywhere else. Friend boards the train again and rides it to the Fashion Shopping District. He buys a maroon sports team hat with a matching jersey and light pair of jeans, along with a pair of sunglasses. He then buys his usual outfit, green collared shirt, black dress pants, and a button down black blazer jacket.

  He journeys to the Uvia wearing the sports attire. Knowing that Max arrives in the hotel registration lobby at 15:28, he figures he’ll wait in the parking garage, starting about ten minutes prior to that. As Cassie pointed out, the surveillance in the parking areas is not as precise, as they are many places to hide between cars. Even so, wandering around a parking garage for too long may provide too much footage for the FBI to analyze, derailing the plan.

  Now for the third part: make contact with Max. Friend enters the garage and walks around the third floor, his preferred level to park, and consequently, the same place as the fatal FBI confrontation. After a few minutes he has no luck. His watch reads 15:20, meaning Max should be parking at any instant
. At, 15:25 Friend becomes uneasy, figuring he may be missing the opportunity. Finally, at exactly 15:30, Max emerges from his vehicle, a compact silver car about thirty or so meters away, several rows toward the back. His being late is a consequence of his sending that message, slightly altering the flow of events.

  Friend moves to intercept him, swiftly moving to his location until he comes face to face with him. “Sir, I think you dropped something by your car.” Friend tells Max, attempting to spur him into returning to his vehicle.

  “Are you sure?” he wonders, giving Friend a confused look, as he is a stranger once again to Max.

  “Yes, it looked like a device. Possibly a prepaid device. You don’t want to lose it.” Friend is sending Max a coded message through his words, hoping his sharp NASA brain picks up on it.

  Max understands immediately. He spent the whole trip trying to solve this enigma. Who could possibly get the number to his device within an hour? With little resistance he follows Friend as they return to the car, playing along. Friend walks toward the passenger side of the vehicle, then suggesting to Max, “Let’s talk inside.”

  “Okay, Max. My name is Friend. Let’s get something out of the way first. Your experiment. You tried to commit suicide three days ago in a parking garage in Houston. You stopped after receiving a call, and decided to come here.”

  Max pauses, but is beyond trying to rationalize. He accepts that everything that has happened today has been in the paranormal realm of reality. This man is obviously the source of it all.

  “Okay. Please just explain what is going on. Starting with how you know that,” Max demands, eager for answers.

  “Certainly Max. I live the same six days over and over. You told me to tell you about your suicide attempt, as confirmation that we’ve met. You said it would be an experiment. Something about the possibility of a multiverse.”

  “Interesting,” he speaks slowly, letting it sink in. “That is something I would say. So if I were to believe you, then why are you trying to help me?”

  “We have an agreement. You give me your bunker cards, help me save someone special, and in turn I will deliver your letter to your sons.”

  Friend goes into details about what he knows, his leaving NASA, the last time they spoke, about the FEMA contact, most everything he’s revealed in previous iterations. He warns him about how exactly the FBI tracks him, hopefully thwarting them enough when Max ditched the phone. Once he comprehends the breadth of Friend’s knowledge, Max feels strongly about helping him.

  “How should we meet later then?” Max wonders.

  “We don’t. You need to drop the envelope, a public restroom somewhere. Do you have plans later?”

  “Yeah, I need to meet a contact. I’m meeting him at a bistro at the Bellissimo Park outdoor plaza at 17 hundred. So right before that I’ll head into the restroom directly across from there in the central plaza, you can’t miss it.”

  “Thank you Max. By the way if you spot the FBI please hide somewhere. They locked me up once already. This Special Agent Stewart is ruthless. He tells me you have some top secret information, and is intent on stopping you.”

  Friend opens the door, shaking his hand as is the custom, really grateful for his help. Max nods before Friend adds one final note, “And no, I don’t know what that secret is. Nor do I want to.”

  Friend exits the vehicle, heading back toward the hotel as if nothing is out of the ordinary. He walks through the hotel and exits from the other side, heading toward the Metropolitan along the official walkway with the other tourists.

  He enters the Metropolitan, finding an incredibly busy bathroom near the sports betting area. He chose it because there are hundreds of other sports enthusiasts crowding the area, dressed like him, allowing him to blend in easily. Friend has come to ascertain that the American sport of football is incredibly popular during these days of the year. He has watched a few times, where the players form clubs around their academic institution, they hold contests called bowl games. Many fans loyal to these institutions all sit and watch these games here, all cheering for different teams at once, watching the holographic monitors, or the older, two-dimensional flat image ones. He enjoys the sense of hope these fans have, despite the fact he already knows the outcome to every game. In the solace of the final days, they would broadcast excerpts of these games, flashing the scores that he somehow has unintentionally memorized.

  In the bathroom Friend finds a stall. The duffel bag he’s been carrying contains his actual backpack that contained his second set of clothes. He changes, putting the old clothes in a plastic shopping bag then back inside his backpack. Without the hat and with the new clothes he looks like an entirely new person.

  The fourth part of the plan is retrieving the envelope. If Max makes good on his word, which he’s done every time, then this shouldn’t be an issue. If he is meeting a contact like he says, the heat may be more on that guy, or girl, and the FBI won’t be as concerned with linking Max to Friend or Cassie.

  He arrives at the Bellissimo Park plaza. It sits just across the Strip from the Sparq. It’s similar too, buzzing with fine restaurants and shops, but larger in size. The ambiance is a bit more formal, but Friend feels he is dressed appropriately as to not stick out. He enters an electronics and devices shop to hang out in, in perfect view of the restaurants across the way. The time now reads 16:50 on his watch.

  He spends the next several minutes studying all the different shapes and sizes of devices and computing equipment with keen curiosity. He doesn’t think much about technology, but his intuition tells him where he comes from it’s much different, advanced is many areas but devoid in others.

  Friend observes Max approaching in a cautious manner. He soon leaves the store and tails him from a distance. But he’s not heading to the restroom in the central plaza as promised. He’s heading directly toward the bistro. Did he forget? Did he visit a different restroom by mistake?

  Friend turns around and backtracks Max’s steps. A series of shops lead to the main Strip road, but no restroom. The first and only restroom it seems is across from the bistro. Max has a reason for not visiting the restroom, not making the drop as promised, and Friend is intent on finding out why.

  After about thirty minutes, Max emerges from the bistro and heads to the restroom. Friend had spent the time trying to look busy, buying a couple things, doing what he can to avoid suspicion. His patience quickly wearing out. But now, finally, he can find out what’s going on.

  He makes his way to the stall standing next to Max. In a low voice, camouflaged among the noisy, crowded background and the loud music playing from the bathroom’s speakers, he confronts him. “What went wrong?”

  Max replies in a hushed voice. “My FEMA contact went dark on me. The FBI must’ve gotten to him. Sorry Friend, you’re out of luck.”

  Friend can’t help but feel anything but utter disappointment. Max quickly disguises the conversation uttering something nonsensical. “Yeah! I hope Texas A&M can pull it off. Go Aggies!”

  Max heads to the wash station with haste. He washes up, and just as he is about to walk out, Friend grabs his arm.

  “Wait!” Friend softly yet forcefully commands, in a desperate plea. “I need to know how. I need to correct this mistake.”

  “The message you sent,” he responds plainly, whispering. “They think I have help, so they scoured my connections, my acquaintances, possibly my family and ex-wife, looking for the source of it. Everyone I know is now being interrogated or watched.”

  Friend finally grasps the predicament he is in. Another little tweak to the plan that has sent a ripple through time, disrupting the chain of events. If he is to succeed he’s going to need to solve this final riddle, how to get word to Max.

  “Meet me in the lounge of my hotel in an hour. We’ll come up with something.” Max requests, walking away.

  Realizing the mission has been compromised for this iteration, Friend feels he can now breathe easy. The important thing now is to not have
Max get caught before then. He looks at his watch, 17:42.

  Before he meets Max, Friend wonders if he should make contact with Cassie. It’s a futile gesture, but he can test the interaction. She made him a promise after all, one that should transcend the boundaries of time, or in his case, parallel alternate timelines. Can it really hurt?

  Friend arrives back at the Metropolitan hotel at 18:11. As he heads to the elevator area, he suddenly remembers an important detail: at this hotel a guard checks everyone’s room tag before letting them in the elevator corridor. Friend was able to bypass this by obtaining a room from Juna. The line at hotel registration is terribly long; it will take him an hour to obtain a room tag. He decides instead to wait nearby the elevators for her. At 18:22, she finally comes into view around the corner, with Alaina and Wyatt treading behind.

  “Hi, Cassandra.” He approaches her with a confidence and a mild curiosity as to what effect his words will have. At this moment he concludes that since he cannot save her in this iteration, he still wants to help her anyway he can. For that, he shouldn’t interfere with her timeline, even if he so helplessly cherishes her being.

  “Tomorrow night, be ready to escape. Mexico is your best bet.” Now, Friend has studied the evacuation patterns several times now after watching news broadcasts, knowing that the panic crowds rush to the Mexican borders along California and Arizona. He knows an offbeat path, yet one with a higher probability of success. “Head toward El Paso. Then get far south, somewhere like Acapulco.”

  She pauses, stunned by this stranger and his pointed words, wondering the only thing she can. “Who are you?”