I’ll begin by briefly explaining the supplemental envelopes. In each, you will find additional information that will be useful on your mission and travels to France. For example, Julie Frey has strong familial ties that run deep in French culture. Inside her envelope you will find information outlining Miss Frey’s ancestry. It may become useful when the two of you travel to Oradour-sur-Glane, from where her family originates. There are also surplus funds in the event the need arises. Finally, there is an envelope with mailing instructions. That is your passport to returning to 2013 and may very well be the most important piece of information in the entire dossier. Read it and follow the instructions very carefully.
Next, there are a few things you need to be aware of in 1942. First, there is a mole on Dr. Epson’s support staff. We are unsure who it is, but we are certain one exists. After years of analyzing Epson’s detailed records, we discovered a number of inconsistencies that can only be explained as sabotage. Also, a bomb was detonated at the warehouse on October 12, 1942. It was reported as an unknown munitions malfunction, but it happens to coincide with the same time and date of the disappearance of Dr. Bernard Epson. We feel the two are linked, and it is vital that you discover who is behind the attack.
He dropped the letter on the desk and leaned back, bewildered. What the hell kind of mess did Applegate involve us in?
Peter walked to the bathroom to fill a glass of water. He drank half, and refilled it. Before returning to the letter, Peter opened the drapes covering the small bay window. From his third-floor vantage point, he could see the busy afternoon traffic. Mesmerized by the hustle and bustle, an image of his kids flashed in his mind. He’d just said good-bye to them a few hours ago, but he felt a million miles away. Now, after reading the disturbing news from Applegate, he was sure he’d never see them again. The thought stabbed like a hot knife in his chest. He breathed deeply, calming himself for several moments, and returned to the letter.
Peter, you are authorized to use any means at your disposal to complete your mission. We attempted to prepare you for most situations, but this one we trust you will handle with subtlety and acumen. My advice is to investigate Epson’s staff as quietly as possible. Once you find the culprit, and I trust you will, use your best judgment on how to handle the situation. I’ve enclosed additional currency for you to secure a firearm for apprehension of the mole and protection of yourself and your team. You may need this prior to leaving for France on the 21st of August.
Good luck, Peter. I have faith in you.
Harrison Applegate
Peter whistled softly as he let the information ferment. He knew there was much more to the mission than Applegate had let on, but he hadn’t expected this.
Peter set the letter aside and picked up the “Surplus funds” envelope. To his surprise, there was more than double the amount he had originally been given by Applegate before leaving. What kind of weapon does Applegate expect me to buy? Surely guns are cheaper ‘now.’
Next, Peter opened his envelope.
Peter-
I was reluctant to include an envelope with your information. However, it has been brought to my attention that you have devised a plan to secure some valuable currency from 1942 to bring back with you to the present. I cannot stop you from doing such a foolish thing. I can, however, advise you to reconsider.
First off, obtaining the desired currency in 1942 and returning it through the time machine would be fruitless. The linear nature of time and space would nullify any perceived value of the money. In essence, any item you acquire there and bring back could be—would be—deemed counterfeit. There are scientific tests that can be performed on any item, currency or otherwise, that would indicate the original production date within a few years. If you bring back money that was minted in 1942, tests will show it was printed within the year. It will have had no chance to age the seventy-plus years required to qualify its originality.
Notwithstanding the aging problem, there may be more pronounced repercussions from your actions. Suppose you take money from that timeline that has great importance in the decades between then and now. Those historical occurrences may never exist, and the money would cease to be more valuable in 2013 than it was when you obtained it in 1942.
In conclusion, Peter, please dispense with any aspirations of personal or financial growth from this mission. Although I cannot guarantee this, your personal life will be improved once you return. I would wager heavily on it.
Please reconsider.
Applegate
Stunned, Peter slowly folded the letter and reinserted it into the envelope. How did he know? Peter was certain that he had taken every precaution in his preparation for Operation Abraham. He didn’t think Trevor knew anything, and if he did . . . It didn’t matter anymore. Applegate knew about it, but there was nothing he could do to stop Peter now.
Peter tossed his envelope in disgust and flipped through the remaining pile. He paused momentarily on “International Travel Information” before settling on the envelope with Julie’s name.
Julie’s grandmother was the sole living descendant that survived the massacre in Oradour-sur-Glane. She was captured by the invading Germans at the age of ten. She was held captive for five years, until late 1947, when she was released. She was two months pregnant at the time. She delivered her child in the spring of 1948. Julie’s mother, Marie-Claude, was considered a bastard of World War II, and life in France was hard. The family immigrated to the US in 1960.
Julie Pierrette was born in Sacramento, California in 1973. Her mother went through an ugly divorce four years later, but the ugliness didn’t end. A large and rather lengthy custody battle ensued, but her mother maintained custody in the end. Julie’s father swore revenge but abruptly left town for several years. A few years later, Marie-Claude remarried Frank Frey, who adopted Julie that same year. She was fifteen at the time.
Two years later, Marie-Claude’s first husband returned to Sacramento. The night he knocked on their door, he was drunk and Frank wasn’t home. Violence ensued, and after breaking down the door, he attempted to rape Julie. Marie-Claude shot and killed him with Frank’s hunting rifle. That is all in the police report, and the case was closed. During the investigation, however, it was suspected that it was Julie who shot her father, without hesitation, the moment he broke through the door. It was believed at the time that both women had lied about the situation in order to protect Julie because she was still a minor. Nothing could be proven, so no charges were ever brought against her.
Peter, I am telling you this so that you know exactly who you are dealing with. Julie Frey is completely committed to her family and she is considered reasonably unstable because of her past. She was chosen for this mission because of her familiarity with the French region in which you two will be traveling. Since coming of legal age, she’s been back to France every few years.
Because of her strong family ties to Oradour-sur-Glane, you must be mindful of every move she makes while there. She mustn’t be allowed to make contact with her family. Her position on the team is for tactical, language, and regional support.
Peter leaned back, dumbfounded by the written grenade that had just exploded in his hand. He remembered Julie mentioning Applegate holding something over her, but wouldn’t have guessed it was this big. As he contemplated his next move, he heard a noise just outside the hotel room door. He quickly scooped everything back into the satchel. The door unlocked and Julie stepped into the room a moment later.
The smile on Julie’s face—bright and full of excitement—nearly made Peter forget what he had just learned.
“Oh my God! I think I love this time. Everything is so cheap, I could hardly stop buying clothes,” Julie exclaimed as she dropped a half dozen bags to the floor. “And this was just from the store around the corner. Tomorrow, Gerty and I are going to—”
“That’s great, Julie. Remember, we have a mission, and frivolous spending is not part of it.”
Surprised at Peter’s rig
id delivery, Julie’s smile quickly vanished, replaced with a look of concern. “Peter? Is something wrong?”
“Should there be?” he asked.
“Well, no. I was just excited about getting out of these horrid clothes. We need these things, and I am sure you’ll feel the same after you and the boys can get some shopping done.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Peter replied. “I guess being cooped up in this hotel room for hours has made me edgy.” Peter stood from the desk and slung the satchel over his shoulder.
“What’s going on, Peter?”
“Nothing. I just need a bit of fresh air.”
“But there is so much we need to talk about.”
“Such as?” Peter questioned, fully realizing and regretting how much of an ass he was being.
“Well, for starters, Gerty lent us her car until we can get one of our own.”
“Great. That’ll help,” Peter said as he stepped closer to the door.
Julie hadn’t moved from where she was standing and just stared curiously at Peter.
Peter stopped at the door, and as he reached for the handle, he glanced back at Julie and asked, “Anything else?”
“There is, but you clearly need to leave, so we’ll talk later.”
“Great. I’ll be back before the docs return.”
Peter stepped into the hall, pulling the door closed. As he walked toward the stairway, he began to feel remorse for how he had acted. Regurgitating the information from Applegate, he tried to evaluate whether Julie was the person he thought she was. During the past three weeks, he had begun to truly care for her, and to read about her past only clouded his judgment. He needed time to think.
CHAPTER 6
Peter stepped into the pedestrian flow in front of his hotel. Out of habit, he glanced at his wrist. Seeing as Applegate hadn’t allowed any of the team to wear anything from their timeline, he felt naked without his wristwatch.
As he drifted down the sidewalk, he had no particular direction in mind. He just needed to walk, clear his mind, think. Peter's mental stability was on the verge of being tapped dry. Hearing about Benny’s death and just moments later witnessing Stella’s murder should have been enough to push him over the edge. But it hadn't ended there. He’d also had to travel through the yet-to-be-proven time machine and then read some disturbing facts about the mission and Julie. If Applegate hadn't given them antianxiety pills, he would have certainly faltered.
Thinking of the pill, he realized it had been hours since he had taken it. He wondered how long the medication would last. He recalled how quickly the effects had kicked in that morning, and he checked himself. He felt enormous sorrow for all that he had lost in just a matter of moments. He was angry with Julie, yet he also pitied her. He found that he felt foggy, drowsy, and confused. Peter made a mental note to pass on taking any more pills from anyone ever again.
The familiar ding of the cable car moving along Powell Street grabbed his attention. Pausing only long enough to stare at the trolley passengers as they whizzed past, he continued his wayward journey along Powell until it crossed Market Street. He stopped at the intersection and decided to turn right onto Market. As he began to head southwest, he soon passed the historical Warfield Theater. He chuckled to himself at the thought of it being historical. It looked like an average, run-of-the-mill theater as he stood in front of the marquee. Looking up and down the block, the facade was certainly different than his own timeline. The Warfield looked grandiose compared to the neighboring buildings. In his timeline, the surrounding neighborhood had grown significantly. A few doors down from the theater—not 150 feet from the entrance to the Warfield—Peter found his previously unknown destination: a bar named Benny’s. It struck him as quite appropriate.
Retreating out of the sunlight, Peter stood just inside the bar, motionless, until his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the pub. He moved up to the bar and sat next to a man with his head hung low. The bartender had his back toward Peter but still called out, “What can I get you?”
“Yeah, what’s the time?” Peter asked.
“Ten till,” said the man sitting at the bar.
“Till four?”
“Five. Can I get you something?” asked the bartender.
“Scotch. Neat,” Peter said.
The man sitting at the bar glanced over, and Peter gave him a friendly smile. The man nodded before returning his gaze to his nearly empty beer glass. A moment later, the bartender slid the lowball in front of Peter. “Thirty-five cents.”
Peter pulled two dollars from his pocket and handed it across the bar. “Keep ‘em coming.”
The bartender nodded as he grabbed the cash. Peter brought the glass to his nose and inhaled deeply. The warm smell of smoky peat danced with apples inside his nostrils. He pulled the glass away and then returned it again for another sniff. A moment later, Peter sipped along the edge, feeling the astringent burn to his lips and tongue as the tepid liquor slid down his throat. He closed his eyes, cherishing the warming sensation all over his body. Before opening his eyes, he tilted the glass back again, finishing off the scotch.
“That good, huh?” asked the man sitting next to him.
Peter looked over, meeting the man’s intense stare in return. “It’s been a long day.”
“Aren’t they all?” asked the man rhetorically. “You’re not from around here, are ya?”
Peter nodded to the bartender as he slid his empty glass forward. “What makes you say that?” he asked.
“You’re dressed . . . let’s just say peculiar.”
Peter looked down at the suit he’d picked out earlier that morning. “Really?”
“That thing looks like it came from the bottom of an old hamper, buddy.”
“It was my uncle’s suit. He gave it to me when I”—Peter stopped, thinking quickly about the story he’d impart to the barfly—“when I told him I was leaving Montana.” Where the hell did that come from? he wondered.
“Well, good luck finding any work around these parts. Since the war came, good payin’ jobs are few and far between.”
“I’m not really looking for a job. Just passing through, really,” Peter said casually. “What do you do?”
“I work construction. After working on the bridge in thirty-six and thirty-seven, I’ve kind of bounced around some. You?”
Peter hesitated, adjusting his worked backstory. “Me? I’m kind of a jack-of-all-trades kind of guy. I’ve worked a fair bit of construction myself. Nothing as elaborate as the steel harp, though.”
“Yeah, that job was certainly a once in a lifetime affair. But, to tell the truth, I prefer wood construction much more. Take this job I’m on now. I’m building these detached houses south of town, and let me tell you, they are works of art.”
Peter’s attention was piqued. “What’s the area called?”
“Eh? Oh hell, I can’t remember. It’s just off the highway, a few miles south of Daly City.”
Peter’s heart bounced. That was very near his own house. “Tell me, are these small houses?”
“Nah. We just finished the first floor of this one house, and you could fit my entire house in the basement.”
“Size is relative. Suppose you live in a five-hundred-square-foot studio apartment . . .”
“Yeah, I see your point. I think the house we’re on now is going to be around thirty-five hundred square feet total when we’re finished.”
Peter wondered what the odds were that the man he was talking to, in a bar called Benny’s in 1942, could possibly be building his home. He knew the house was built in this year, and the size and location were a close match.
“So then why are you sitting here and not at the site? I know it’s none of my business, but it’s Monday afternoon.”
The man looked at Peter with a steel gaze. “Copper shortage. We’re shut down out there for at least the next week and a half until the next wire shipment comes in.”
“Ah. Good ol’ war efforts. I’m Pete, by the way.�
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“Cliff. Good to meet you,” he said. “You’re right, though. I should be at the site, but I didn’t have the heart to tell the missus about the work delay, so I leave for work in the morning and sit around here until it’s quittin’ time.” Cliff looked at his watch, finished off his beer, and pushed himself up from the bar. “And look at that. It’s quittin’ time now. Nice talking with you.”
Before Peter could offer to buy him another round, Cliff walked out of Benny’s. Peter looked forward again and saw the bartender had poured his second scotch. He smiled and sucked down half the liquid perfection.
Peter made a mental note to drive by his house sometime before leaving for France, just to see it being built. There’s something you don’t get to see every day, he mused.
As he sat alone at the bar, his thoughts returned to Applegate’s dossier. He was so confused by everything he had learned. His personal mission was virtually a pipe dream now that Applegate had pointed out the flaws in his plan. How had he not thought of the implications of aging when he and Benny came up with the idea?
Then, Julie’s face invaded his mind’s eye. She was a beautiful woman, but despite his growing feelings for her, he couldn’t help the sense of wariness creeping into his consciousness. How he could have been so mistaken about someone was beyond him. A murderer. She didn’t even remotely resemble a person capable of taking another human life. What exactly does a person like that look like? he wondered. He had no answer.
After finishing his scotch, Peter contemplated heading back to the hotel. Before he could move away from the barstool, the bartender slid another drink in front of him. Peter nodded his thanks and swiped his hand horizontally across the top of the glass, to which the bartender nodded. He needed to be done.
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