Voyage in Time: The Titanic (Out of Time #9)

by Monique Martin

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Other Books & About the Author

  VOYAGE IN TIME

  (OUT of Time, Book 9)

  Simon and Elizabeth are sent by the Council to 1912 England to make sure scientist Niels Bohr survives long enough to attend a secret meeting. But as tensions in Europe rise and the makings of World War loom on the horizon, they're not the only ones concerned with Bohr's meeting. And not everyone wants him to make it.

  Keeping Bohr alive is hard enough, but when he books passage on the Titanic, their task might just be impossible. Forced to follow him onto the ship, they must face mysterious assassins, dangers at every turn and survive one of the most infamous disasters in history.

  Copyright Notice

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 Monique Martin

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission.

  Cover Photo: Karen Wunderman

  Cover Layout: TERyvisions

  For more information, please contact

  writtenbymonique@gmail.com

  ~~~

  Acknowledgements & Dedication

  As always this book would not have been possible without the help of many people. I would like to thank Michael, Eddie & Carole, Mom & George, Dad & Anne, Cidney, Melissa, Cynthia, Laura, DeAnn, and most of all, Robin.

  I’d also like to thank the thousands of people who help preserve the past through books, websites, museums and sheer will.

  And finally, I’d like to dedicate this book to the passengers and crew of the Titanic—the survivors and all of the souls lost that fateful night.

  Chapter One

  PETER TRAVERS SAT ON the edge of his desk and tapped his fingers on a stack of dossiers that was, in Simon’s estimation, nearly a foot tall. He started to speak, stopped, repeated the process again, then once more, but said nothing.

  “Something on your mind?” Elizabeth asked, which was far kinder than the “Get on with it” playing on Simon’s tongue.

  Travers smiled at her, barely, and then asked, “Are you familiar with Chaos Theory?”

  Simon smiled. “I’m married to it.”

  Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “Very funny.”

  “Yes, quite,” Travers said, “except that this is a rather serious matter.”

  Simon thought they’d been summoned to Council headquarters for an important assignment. If it was simply for a lecture on Chaos Theory, he and Travers were going to have words. Unpleasant words.

  Simon shifted in his chair impatiently. “Yes, we’re familiar with it. Some call it the Butterfly or Ripple Effect. One small action causing a cascade that can have far-reaching implications. It’s basic time travel protocol to avoid causing them.”

  Travers nodded. “Yes, it’s the avoiding part that’s important.”

  Simon didn’t appreciate his tone. He and Elizabeth weren’t official members of the Council. They didn’t answer to Travers and they surely didn’t need to be lectured on the basic covenants of time travel.

  “We are well aware of that,” Simon said, tightly.

  “Are you?” Travers turned from his perch on the edge of his desk and grabbed a thick file.

  Simon was about to tell him what he could do with his file and his lecture when Elizabeth reached over and touched his arm to stop him.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Travers looked down at the file. “It’s not so much what’s going on—we’ve taken care of that—it’s what went on.”

  He opened the folder and skimmed the first page before looking back up.

  “Last year you made an … independent trip to London, 1942, with the aid of a certain key. Yes?”

  Simon narrowed his eyes, suspicious, and Elizabeth cast a worried glance at him. They’d never told Travers about the special watch key Teddy Fiske had given them. He didn’t bother asking how the Council knew of it; Simon wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  He frowned. “Obviously, you know we did.”

  “And we saved Evan Eldridge,” Elizabeth added.

  Travers’ face softened for a moment. “Yes.” The reprieve didn’t last long though and his dour expression returned. “And Jack Wells.”

  Elizabeth sat forward in her chair. “Has something happened to Jack?”

  Travers held up a hand to hold off her stream of questions. “Jack’s fine.”

  He closed the folder and held it against his lap. “However, he shouldn’t be.”

  He looked down at the folder again, his brows knit.

  “By all rights, Jack Wells should have died in that bombing in 1942.” He looked up at them both in turn. “And he would have if you hadn’t saved him. With your key.”

  Simon was starting to understand and it was disconcerting. “You’re saying we changed time by saving him?”

  “To put it succinctly, yes.”

  “But maybe we were supposed to save him,” Elizabeth said.

  Travers smiled sadly. “I don’t think so.”

  She looked over at Simon with the same look in her eyes that he felt in the pit of his stomach.

  “What are you saying?” Simon asked, his temper flaring. “That Wells should have died and you’re going to right that wrong? Because if that’s the case, I can assure you we will do whatever it takes to stop you.”

  Travers stood suddenly. “No, no. Not that. Wells has influenced far too much of the future and past to try to reset things.”

  Simon shook his head. “Then I don’t understand.”

  Turning, Travers placed the file on his desk and walked around to sit in his chair.

  “As you know, time is flexible, self-healing for the most part. We make small ripples all the time, but they dissipate. They don’t cause major changes. However, when you saved Jack Wells, you created a tidal wave.”

  Simon certainly didn’t like the sound of that.

  “We didn’t realize it at the time,” Travers continued. “Sometimes these things develop slowly or in unexpected ways. Needless to say, we’ve had our hands full around here trying to set things right.”

  When a timeline changes, the people in it have no idea it’s been altered. The Council did, of course, but for the average person it was impossible. They might hear a whisper in the back of their minds or remember an image from a dream that felt so very real, but nothing they’d recognize as tangible proof that this life wasn’t what it had been mere moments ago. He had to wonder what it was the Council teams had been cleaning up. And if Victor Renaud had been involved. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

  “You mean you’re putting thing
s back to the way they’re supposed to be?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Yes. We’ve had teams on it for several weeks. We think we’ve managed to wrangle most of it back into shape.”

  “And Jack?” Simon asked, fearing the worst.

  “His new history is part of history now. Wells will remain unchanged, unharmed and here.”

  Elizabeth blew out a relieved breath. “You coulda told us that right off.”

  Travers frowned. “I wanted to impress upon you the seriousness of the situation. As tempting as it is, you must not pluck people from their time streams. Even for a moment.”

  “But Evan Eldridge did that. He saved Gerald,” Elizabeth said.

  “Yes, and we got lucky on that one. But the potential risks of dislocating a person from their time are enormous. Catastrophic. You mustn’t, under any circumstances, do that again.”

  Simon glanced over at Elizabeth. She looked set to argue. To see someone struggle and suffer and not act was in direct opposition to her essence. But Travers was right.

  “We understand,” Simon said, speaking for them both, knowing Elizabeth, no matter how torn she might feel, understood as well.

  Travers put his palms flat on his desk and exhaled as if he were relieved to hear they agreed. He smiled. “Good. Now, tell me. What do you know about Niels Bohr?”

  ~~~

  “That second burrito wasn’t such a good idea.” Elizabeth put a hand over her stomach and winced, silently cursing the corset that was making her discomfort even more uncomfortable.

  Simon wasn’t as sympathetic to her plight as she’d hoped and looked at her with mild amusement.

  “I think it’s safe to say that a second burrito is never a good idea.”

  Elizabeth scrunched up her face in response. The food truck had been sitting there in front of Council headquarters in San Francisco like it knew she was coming. She was a sucker for a good food truck, a passion Simon didn’t share. As she felt her stomach burble, she wondered if maybe he had a point, and turned to look out the train window.

  “But if you’d like,” he said, taking her hand, “I can see if the steward has any soda water.”

  Elizabeth smiled at his concern and shook her head. “This too shall pass.”

  That earned her a small grunt from Simon, who offered a fleeting smile at her bad joke and then focused on the rolling hills of the English countryside as their train emerged from the city. He was pensive, bordering on broody.

  “Don’t let it worry you,” she said.

  He pulled himself away from his thoughts and looked back in question.

  “The mission,” she clarified.

  He nodded. “It is a rather inauspicious beginning.”

  On that she had to agree. They’d been sent back to April 1912, in Manchester, England to find and protect scientist Niels Bohr. Except Niels Bohr wasn’t in Manchester. He’d taken an unexpected trip to Cambridge.

  Sometimes, lots of times actually, their missions didn’t go exactly according to plan, but it usually took a few days for things to go wonky. Starting out that way was unsettling, especially, she knew, for Simon.

  “We’ll catch up with him in a few hours and be back on track,” she said.

  The worry around his eyes eased a little, and he squeezed her hand. “Ever the optimist.” She smiled and he brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers affectionately. “What would I do without you?”

  “Go mad?” she teased.

  He smiled, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “No doubt.”

  Her heart ached a little for him, part of him really did believe that. She leaned in a little closer. “Probably find another wife before the year was out.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut as he realized she was playing with him. He narrowed his eyes ready to scold her, but they softened. Tucking a finger under her chin, he lifted it up. “Never.”

  He leaned in to kiss her.

  The loud sound of their compartment door sliding open interrupted them. A man with a stern, craggy face stared back at them. He looked at each of them in turn, his expression flat and unreadable. There was a coldness about him that made Elizabeth shiver.

  Next to her, Simon tensed slightly and sat up that much straighter. When he spoke, it was with his most razor-sharp, cut-glass accent.

  “May I help you?” he asked, sounding as snobbish as he looked in his charcoal gray morning suit. But there was more than just blue-blooded pompousness in his words; there was an edge to Simon’s tone.

  The man, however, was not intimidated in the slightest. He acted as though he hadn’t heard Simon at all.

  Elizabeth shifted uneasily in her seat. Simon looked ready to say something else when the man stepped back into the corridor, closing the door behind him without a word.

  “Mr. Personality,” Elizabeth said, hoping to lighten the mood and shake her lingering feeling of unease. “That wasn’t creepy at all.”

  Judging from Simon’s expression, he felt the same way.

  “And great timing, too,” she added. “I think you were going to kiss me.”

  Simon cocked his head to the side in mock consideration. “Was I?”

  “Definitely.”

  He shook his head. “That doesn’t sound like something I would—”

  Elizabeth grabbed him by the tie and pulled him down into a kiss.

  He smiled as they pulled apart. “On second thought …”

  Elizabeth laughed, leaned back and rested her head on his shoulder as she looked out of the window again. Her thoughts turned back to the mission. “I wonder why Bohr went to Cambridge so suddenly.”

  “He did study there under Thomson for a time,” Simon said. “Perhaps Thomson has something to do with Bohr’s meeting.”

  That was possible, she thought. Their mission wasn’t just to find Bohr and keep him safe, but specifically to keep him safe long enough to attend a mysterious meeting on the 19th of April. In typical Council style, they had no idea who he was meeting with or where it would happen. Knowing what little she did about Bohr, Cambridge seemed as likely a spot as any.

  “At least we’ve got ten whole days to find out,” she said.

  “Let’s hope that’s long enough.”

  ~~~

  It was early evening by the time they checked into their hotel in Cambridge. While the concierge told them Bohr wasn’t staying at their hotel, he did tell them about a lecture being given that evening by one of Bohr’s colleagues, J.J. Thomson. That would be as good a place as any to try to find his trail. With just over two hours until the lecture began, Elizabeth lingered in the bath and then squeezed herself back into her corset. It wasn’t as bad as the one she’d had to wear when they’d chased Jack the Ripper, but it still squished parts of her that preferred to run free, like her spleen.

  The latest fashion wasn’t the curvy S, but a flat silhouette, which would have been fine if she’d been a tentpole and not a human. It was disturbing how history physically shaped women into new ideals by sheer force. She was tempted to start a bra-burning revolution a little early, but then the bra hadn’t even been invented yet.

  “This is my least favorite part of time travel,” she said as she managed to close the last hook on her corset.

  Simon’s eyes drifted over her body. “I’m afraid we’ll have to disagree on that. I rather enjoy it.”

  “Spoken like a man.”

  He gave her a very sexy half-smile. “Very much so.”

  Her face flushed. She was fairly certain most women could get pregnant just from that smile. She wasn’t one of them, she thought, as she turned to dig through her trunks for just the right dress. But the thought tripped her up and she distracted herself with the half dozen gorgeous gowns she’d brought along.

  They’d been trying for months and months now with nothing to show for it. A little traitorous part of her brain wondered if they’d ever—

  “What’s wrong?”

  She startled at the sound of his voice, so clos
e behind her now. She hadn’t even heard him walk over to her.

  “Nothing.”

  He took her by the arms and turned her toward him. “Elizabeth.”

  She smiled up at him and shook her head. With so much on their plates dealing with Bohr she didn’t want to add an extra helping of her personal worries. “Nothing, really. I just wonder which of these gowns says filthy, stinking rich to you?”

  Simon knew she was withholding something from him, but he didn’t press. He glanced down at the trunks. “They all do.”

  “That’s not very helpful. We’re wealthy patrons of the arts and sciences,” she said, affecting a bad upper class accent.

  Simon looked like he was about to argue again that she was being silly, but he looked down at the trunks again. “The green one.”

  Elizabeth snapped her fingers. “The color of money. Good choice.”

  He kindly didn’t remind her that wasn’t the case in England in 1912 nor did he press her about her abrupt shift in mood. Giving her arms one last reassuring squeeze, he walked over to the mirror to make sure he looked his part.

  He did, of course. In his black dress coat, white waistcoat and black trousers he looked ready for the opera or something equally chi-chi. But then, he always did.

  Elizabeth laid out her dress. Magically, the silk hadn’t wrinkled. Well, not much, she amended, as she found a few and tried to smooth them out. “Why don’t you refresh my memory before the lecture?”

  They’d been given a thick dossier on Niels Bohr, his myriad accomplishments in the field of physics, and the scientific community he belonged to. The world didn’t know it yet, but he would become one of the most important scientists involved in fashioning an understanding of the atom. He would win the Nobel prize and would be instrumental in the development of the Manhattan Project during World War Two. It was a lot to take in.

  Simon looked at her reflection in the mirror. “I don’t think there’s going to be a quiz afterward.”