“Would you be referring to your visit to St. Jeremiah’s?”
That also took him by surprise. How long have they been following me?
“Don’t look so shocked, Ethan. I always keep tabs on my agents, even if they are mentally unsound.”
“He was one of yours? How exactly did he end up there?
“Our operation has always worked on the fringe.” Wallace’s mouth twisted into something resembling a smirk and a frown in one. “We’ve blackmailed Secretaries of State, foreign ambassadors, military officials, you name it. They’re all fair game. Everything you see around you is expensive to run and we need to get the funding from somewhere. We only ask for a blank check and no questions.”
“So what backfired on your agent then?”
A shadow crossed over Wallace’s face. “One general in particular didn’t like the idea of his secrets being used against him – and no guarantee we wouldn’t ask for more – while we filled our coffers. Truth be told, we probably would have.” He opened a drawer.
Ethan peered to see what was retrieved. It was just another cigar, which Wallace promptly clipped and lit. After offering a few puffs of smoke to the ceiling, he continued, “The general had men tail our agent and nearly beat him to death.”
“You didn’t pursue this general?”
“Have you been listening? Our whole point is to remain invisible. The general called our bluff; we lost, end of story.” Another cloud of cigar smoke drifted upward. “We attained our funding elsewhere.” He paused, looking at the Cuban like it held the answer to many questions. “Secrets. Dirty little secrets are everywhere in Washington, and they can cost people so much if exposed. Do you have secrets, Mr. Tannor?”
Ethan shrugged. “If I do, they’re a secret from me. I’m an open book; straightforward, like the laws I enforce.”
“Indeed.” Wallace cast a sideways glance at him. “And this partner of yours … Mr. Hansen?”
Ethan’s rage was quick and uncontrollable. He lunged forward, hands balled into fists. Jackman’s response was lightening fast as well. He spun sideways, moving in to slam a warning palm on Ethan’s chest.
“You leave him out of this!” Ethan spat, pressing against the restraint of Jackman’s outstretched arm.
Wallace responded with a thin smile. “I had no intention of bringing him in. But if you decide to part company with us after the conclusion of our discussion and return to your previous life, I suggest that you refrain from bothering him with these matters. In other words, don’t go telling him about a secret group of Russians hell-bent on America’s destruction.”
The flush of blood ebbed a little from Ethan’s face. He glanced down at Jackman’s hand, which still rested on his sternum. He swatted it down and away. Reaper made a sound of bemusement at the impotent display of bravery and stepped back, resuming his former stance.
Ben Wallace moved from his desk and returned to Ethan. The two men locked gazes as Jackman watched them closely for signs of trouble.
“There is one more thing I would like to show you,” Wallace said. “Come with me.”
29 3 Mile
April 24, 1986, 4:50 AM
Not that Ethan had much choice – either go along and see what they wanted him to witness or get another forced injection. A second dose was not an appealing option; his head was still splitting from the first one.
Jackman shepherded him out of Wallace’s office and into a service elevator located in the room they’d just passed through. Wallace and the other commandos streamed in behind them and the group rode the elevator down to the basement garage in that awkward silence that only an elevator can offer.
When the doors pinged open an unmarked van was already waiting by the elevator doors. They piled inside and Jackman took the wheel. He drove them out of the building and onto the freeway, heading toward LaGuardia. Ethan stared out the window, trying to block out the people around him and the things he’d heard in Wallace’s office.
When the vehicle stopped, they were sitting in a sectioned off area of LaGuardia for private takeoffs and landings. Jackman had parked beside what looked like a Gulfstream; it was smaller than a commercial jet, but bigger than most of the other twin-engines parked around the runway or in the hangers. The plane was impressive, but it seemed this wasn’t the show and tell Wallace had been speaking of.
Ethan was led to the steps of the plane unbound but not free to leave of his own volition. Jackman nudged him forward, but he resisted, gazing into the open plane door with trepidation. He shot a glance at Wallace, who stood at the foot of the steps, waiting for Ethan’s ascent.
“Where are you taking me?”
“You’re in good hands, I assure you.”
“That doesn’t give me much comfort, given, you know, everything that has happened.”
Wallace smiled patiently. “The next stage of your journey is imperative, Mr. Tannor. Please, after you.”
Ethan climbed the steps to the plane and entered the cabin. It looked comfortable enough with the plush seats, tables, and couch, but still felt like a prison. He settled himself in the closest seat facing the door and leaned his elbows on the table in front of him, watching as the others piled in and took their own places.
Jackman eyed Ethan’s chosen position with a knowing grin and stationed himself between it and the door. Ethan hadn’t planned on making a run for it – he was realistic enough to know he didn’t stand a chance of escape – but Jackman’s ever watchful presence continued to grate on his nerves. Perhaps it was time to bury the hatchet, but maybe not until after Ethan stopped having visions of doing so in Jackman’s head.
Wallace was the last to step inside. He was carrying a black briefcase, which he handed to Jackman who stowed it beneath his own seat. Wallace then took the chair across the small table from Ethan and made himself comfortable, stretching out his legs as he reclined.
Ten minutes into the air, Jackman had been excused and was now sitting behind them at the table in the back. Wallace pulled out yet another cigar and lit up. His eyes cut over to Ethan. “Would you like a drink, Mr. Tannor?”
“No thanks. I like to keep a clear head during my abductions.”
Wallace chuckled deep in his throat and brought the cigar to his lips.
“Tell me something,” Ethan said. “How is it that with such a sophisticated gadget from the future you took so long to track me down?”
Wallace nodded like the question made perfect sense. “You are right to conclude the future holds many technological advancements, especially with regard to information and tracking. But the truth is, we are constrained by the limits of today. The 1980s are not the digital age.”
Ethan scowled. “Digital age?” This was another phrase that carried no meaning.
Wallace made a dismissive gesture with the hand holding the cigar. A trail of smoke floated in Ethan’s face and he waved it away with an exaggerated cough. Wallace didn’t seem to notice.
“It’s the method by which most information flows in my time – much more efficient, less constrictive, but with its own drawbacks and limitations. It is far easier to track someone down by the digital footprint they leave behind in cyber space or the electronic grid.”
There it was again, that word ‘digital’. The jargon was lost on Ethan, again used in a context he didn’t understand. “Jesus Christ, the more you talk, the more I get lost. Digital footprints – whatever they hell those are – cyber space, electronic grids?”
“I’ll humor you. Let’s say someone purchases a bus ticket. We can find out where and when by focusing the scope, perhaps even tracking them down on a closed circuit video feed. Once we’ve located where that person was, from there we can easily jump on the backbone of the network – either locally or wirelessly. If the admin rights were locked, we can hack our way in with a worm, virus, or password algorithm program. But as I said, today’s technology is primitive; no backbones, no trunk systems that can work with our advanced gear. We are confined to looking with
our eyes and ears.”
Wallace fell silent, probably for Ethan’s benefit in catching up. “I can tell from the stumped expression that you’re lost, but I wouldn’t expect you to comprehend this completely. These terms are beyond your capacity of understanding. That part’s not important. The type of device you saw in my office – while greatly beneficial decades from now – is reduced to nothing more than an information receptacle in 1986.”
“Whatever you say, Doc Brown.”
“I’m not familiar with this doctor. Who’s he?”
Ethan rolled his eyes. He was done talking; better to wait until they showed him what they wanted him to see before asking more questions. And he had a feeling there would be a lot more questions then.
***
Almost an hour after takeoff, the plane landed smoothly. All things considered, the flight had been one of the most comfortable Ethan had experienced. He figured he could get used to this sort of luxury. Maybe if he ever got through this mess he’d use some of his inheritance to revisit this lifestyle on occasion.
When the door opened, Jackman grabbed the black briefcase and was beside Ethan before he could even stand up, prodding him to move. From the look of the sky the sun was beginning to make itself known. Ethan had no clue where he was and didn’t even try to guess as he was bundled into another van similar to the first one. His position in the windowless vehicle afforded him no view of the outside world, but he counted it a blessing that he wasn’t bound and gagged.
The van lurched slightly as they came to a stop. Ethan glanced around at the driver, whose code name was Zodiac. The man had a shaved head and a trimmed bottom goatee. He no longer wore black commando fatigues, opting instead for a dark blue coverall jumpsuit, which made him look less intimidating than before. Zodiac gave something to a man standing outside – presumably an ID – and in short measure the red and white striped gate opened to allow them access to a bumpy road ahead.
The vehicle came to another stop and everyone piled out. It wasn’t until then that Ethan realized exactly where he stood.
He’d seen it enough on the news several years ago. The giant cylindrical structures in front of him were unmistakable; he’d been transported into the heart of the Three Mile Island nuclear facility.
Jackman prodded Ethan again and he followed the line of men through access door after restricted access door and on into a large cargo elevator. Once inside, Ben slid open a concealed panel, withdrew a key, and used it to turn on the power switch.
The slow grinding of the elevator was anything but express service and the screech of mechanical gears raked on Ethan’s ears with merciless intent. Everyone else seemed unfazed by the irritant, standing like stone statues as the car made its slow progress toward their destination.
After what felt like eons the doors split apart revealing a large hanger-sized room that resembled Mission Control in Houston. “Ground Control to Major Tom,” Ethan muttered.
Ben gave a slight grin. “Indeed.”
Well, at least he knows David Bowie. It was a small comfort, but Ethan would take what he could.
Wallace said nothing further until they were all standing in front of a round grated iron structure. At its center, sitting in the middle of the elevated stage, were several large satellites. “This is the Axiom.” Wallace stretched out his hands like an emcee at the circus.
“How sweet, you’ve given it a name,” Ethan said. “And what does this Axiom do, exactly?”
“I’ll be laying down some heavy concepts, so please try to keep up. This is where we pull the massive amount of power needed from the facility to create a wormhole. Are you familiar with that word?” Wallace arched an eyebrow in question.
“Yes, Steven Hawking, I’ve heard of wormholes.”
The commandos around them made noises in the back of their throats, but Wallace ignored Ethan’s sarcasm. He indicated the thick black attachments at the base of the Axiom. “These cables carry the power generated by the nuclear reactor and with that massive energy source we’re able to plot a course of our choosing into the past up to – but not exceeding – forty years.”
“Why forty?”
“That seems to be the magic number. Nuclear power limits us to that span.”
“So you’re sending agents into the past to what – alter history?”
Wallace shook his head. “We don’t want to change things; we want to prevent them from being changed by the Sons of Stalin. If they’re successful, our future as we know it is gone. We need to intercept them in Adelaide, Australia – in the 1940s.”
“What happens in Australia?”
“A scientist who worked closely with Nikola Tesla is there. Together, they found a meteorite – but not just any meteorite. This one has phenomenal properties that allow for a different kind of time travel.”
“Different?” How long have these guys been playing leap frog through history? “Wouldn’t all time traveling be the same?”
“No, this object allows for time jumping into the future, which is much more dangerous than traveling backward.”
“And why is that?” Ethan glanced surreptitiously at the others, who stood around them in rigid formation with crossed arms and clenched fists. They appeared to be unfazed by such talk.
Wallace began pacing as he spoke. “The Red Hand wants this meteorite. The possibility of traveling forward to bring back technology that is not around today would give them monstrous supremacy. They would be unstoppable.” He came to a halt in front of Ethan. “We can’t allow this power into their hands.”
“Well, I can see how we don’t want that,” Ethan said, managing to sound sarcastic and serious at the same time.
Wallace turned to look at the Axiom. “We need to act quickly, so that we can rewrite history before it is written to our disadvantage.”
Rewrite history before it’s written? This was playing with his head. “So, this is why I’m here? To be your time traveling guinea pig? And how do I change this version of history?”
Wallace went to a computer station and picked up a piece of paper. “Imagine this is like time –”
Ethan held up a hand. “You know what? I have a shitty imagination so spare me the visuals. I’ll take you at your word. What happens to this time and place if someone shifts the timeline of the past?”
“This one,” Ben pointed to the carpet beneath his feet, “ceases to exist. And the new one continues on from the point of change.”
There was no way he’d be able to wrap his understanding around that one, so Ethan moved on to something more pertinent. “Why me?”
“Your qualifications, and you have no one to leave behind.” Wallace tossed the paper away, a disposable object. Like Ethan’s life.
Ethan gritted his teeth and stared at the floor. Why wouldn’t the man feel that way? Ethan didn’t have family anymore. He was alone, unconnected; except for Art, Mary and the kids, Ethan would not be missed.
“Let’s proceed below, Mr. Tannor,” Wallace was saying. “There is much more to discuss.”
30 Mission Plausible
April 24, 1986, 6:43 AM
The group split up, with most of the commandos heading in one direction, Wallace, Jackman, and Ethan in the other. Wallace led the way down a long corridor, to another elevator – this one slightly less noisy than the first – and from there, into an industrial-style office space not much smaller than the one Wallace had back in New York. The only notable difference was the absence of windows.
A desk was in the middle of the room like before, and atop the desk was a small square glass case. A watch was secured with metal pins inside the case. The timepiece looked almost like the one Ethan had found at Tobias’s, but there was something different about its metal construction. Ethan couldn’t place the distinction other than it looked older somehow, worn down by age.
Wallace opened a drawer on his desk and pulled out another cigar. Ethan watched him light up. Expensive habit.
Neither Jackman nor Wallace had sp
oken since the group went their separate ways. Jackman placed the briefcase he carried on the desk and assumed his usual aloof posture like a dutiful soldier.
Ethan couldn’t take the silence anymore. “What’s the deal?” he said. “You ‘Terminator’ me to 1948 – to Adelaide, Australia of all places – so I can take care of this Soviet agent and his buddies and preserve this rock. And after all that you just ‘Beam me up, Scotty’ back here?”
“Not quite,” Wallace said, looking almost regretful. “The drawback is that we don’t have a way of pulling you back through after you’ve been sent. You must stay there and live your life from then on.”
For some reason, Ethan had been expecting it would be like that. “So everything I have here is gone and I have to start over in a time where people are just recovering from two world wars?”
“That’s right, but this drawback has a perk,” Wallace said matter-of-factly – as if this ‘perk’ made destroying Ethan’s current life a perfectly reasonable option. “Both of your parents died in a car accident, correct?”
Ethan nodded, not surprised that Wallace knew the more vivid particulars of his life.
“Well, after you’ve dealt with this problem – and secured the meteorite in the process – then you are free to do what you can to see if you can fix that little detail in your history.” Wallace’s mouth smiled, but his eyes didn’t. “And maybe you can give your future self a better childhood to look forward to?”
This was quite the piece of bait Ben dangled in front of Ethan, and it struck him like a sucker-punch to the gut. At first, he couldn’t even get his mind to comprehend the possibility of such a thing, let alone form coherent words. Still, too many questions loomed in his mind and he forced the sad memory of his parents to the side for now.
“This Abraham Bock guy; why not just wait it out and prevent him from becoming president? Wouldn’t that end this second civil war you speak of?”
And the Tide Turns Page 14
