“You must promise me something,” Tobias said, his voice hoarse and dry like always. “Keep this car and never sell it – and if you ever do think about selling it, let me buy it from you.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Ethan gave him a solemn look. “I’ll never part with it.”
Tobias nodded. “You know, I was the one who picked this car out on the lot for your father.”
Ethan tightened yet another screw and smiled up at his uncle, but it was a sad smile, the memory of his father and mother bittersweet. “Really?”
“Yep, and someday when the time is right I’ll tell you a story about this car.” He patted the propped up hood with reverence.
“C’mon, you can’t say that and leave me hanging in the wind.” Ethan protested. “What is it?”
Tobias wheezed a laugh, but his face was serious. “When the time is right, son.”
***
His eyes were caked shut with sleep and opened slowly, reluctantly. It felt like one of those hangover mornings. For a moment Ethan forgot his bearings and tried to remember how much liquor he’d downed the night before.
Then he remembered the dream and the memories that came with it, and felt a renewed sense of loss for Uncle Tobias. When the time is right, Tobias had said. Now there would never be a right time, would there? And he’d never get a chance to find out the mystery of the Mustang. The thought felt selfish, but Ethan still wished he’d pressed Tobias more on the subject. But the old man’s lips were tighter than a virgin’s knees. He would only speak about certain things if he wanted to and there was no convincing him otherwise.
A peek at the clock said it was 6:13 am; the mere three hours of sleep he’d managed to grab almost wasn’t worth it. He felt like shit. His sore muscles begged to return to their slumber, but Ethan stood and stretched all the same.
Coffee and breakfast called to him like manna from heaven, but they would not be had until priority one was fulfilled, so he forced his steps toward the small bathroom. Brushing his teeth felt like a chore from hell as his arms resisted the effort with fierce complaint.
After supper had been brought to Ethan’s room the night before, he’d slept in his jeans – thank God – so the only thing he had to wrangle on was a shirt. After that painful process, he headed out the door and made for the crew’s mess hall.
Every commando aside from Jackman was seated at the table and all seemed ready to seize the day. Then again, they hadn’t had nearly as much on their mind last night as he did. Or maybe it was the coffee.
“Can I take this seat?” Ethan tapped the backrest of an empty chair.
“Go for it.” The reply came from Hex, who still sported a sour look – could be he just looked that way all the time.
“No hard feelings, right?” Ethan offered.
“Yeah, whatever,” Hex mumbled before digging back into his breakfast of eggs and oatmeal.
High carb and high protein were all that sat on the table, just the way Ethan liked it. He took his seat and eyed the feast spread out, not knowing what he wanted to splurge on first. He reached for the coffee and swiped a few strips of bacon with waffles on the side. He passed on the pancakes, which for some reason had been made into smiley faces.
The behemoth named Priest was working on what appeared to be his ninth boiled egg, if the mass of yellow yolks piled on his platter was any indication.
Ethan took a sip of coffee and it burned in the right kind of way down his throat. “Priest, is it?”
“Yup.”
“You lead all these guys?”
“Second in command; Reaper takes point.” Priest folded a piece of dry toast in half – it looked the size of a cracker in his massive hand – and stuffed it into his mouth with ease. He leaned back in his chair and began introducing the squad around the table, pointing out each one as he spoke: “Zodiac, Worm, Tinman, and Hex.”
Zodiac smiled, Worm gave a nod, Tinman arched an eyebrow as he chewed, and the ever scornful Hex raised an index finger of his fork hand as he shoved in more grub.
“So tell me, how did you fellas end up doing this?” Ethan waved his arms around.
Priest bent forward placing his elbows on the table. “Same reason you became a cop; it was a calling.”
“What did you do before this mercenary work with Wallace?”
Priest dropped his next victim – a biscuit this time – chewed, swallowed, then slurped back the rest of his coffee. He set the cup down and his face scrunched up in thought, mulling over Ethan’s choice of words for describing what they did. “My brother and I were in the same unit in Burma.”
“Your brother?”
Priest slapped Zodiac on the back. The bald commando with the lower goatee smiled, white teeth shining between bits of unswallowed food. “This is Timotheus, and I am Matthias,” Priest answered.
“Interesting names.”
“We are the sons of a preacher man. He liked the sound of those ancient biblical names.” Priest was clearly the mouthpiece of the duo. His brother continued shoveling food in his mouth, jaws working furiously as he chewed, head bobbing to some unheard tune.
“So I take it that’s why you adopted the call sign Priest?”
“Yeah, I quote scriptures and my bro reads the stars and heavens.”
“Really?” Ethan got a second helping of bacon and scrambled eggs, scooping a heap of them onto his plate.
Priest grunted. “Hell no, that is some gay ass shit – you’d have to be an idiot to believe that.” Another egg white disappeared into his mouth.
The other men snickered; they’d probably all heard this line before.
Priest left no room for interruption and started up again, “C’mon man, you don’t get to give yourself your own moniker – it’s against the rules – someone else does. It’s probably written down somewhere.” He stole Zodiac’s coffee, then continued. “Anyway, on my first assignment I was only eighteen then and had stones like no other. My brother hadn’t joined up yet but he was hot on my heels. I was sent into Bolivia, as green as Kermit. On that operation I killed a certain missionary.”
The giant pushed his remaining food aside – as if it was invading his personal bubble – to continue the story unencumbered. “So it turns out this man of the cloth wasn’t just saving souls but was smuggling in weapons for Che, not to mention sodomizing most of his congregation.” Priest’s face morphed into a look of disgust. “Children even. That is some twisted ass shit. How could someone do that and even remotely think it’s okay? Anyway, my commander said there was a special spot in heaven for executing justice on such a scumbag.” Priest sat back and spread his arms. “From then on, Priest it was.”
The manner in which Priest had said the word ‘executing’ gave Ethan a feeling the commando had delivered a slow punishment for the missionary’s crimes. He suppressed a shudder and directed his next question to Zodiac. “How about you?” Ethan poked his fork at Timotheus before taking his next bite.
Timotheus shrugged. “I can’t remember, but maybe because the first animal I killed was a Zodiac bear.” He made a grab to reclaim his coffee when a palm strike from his brother caught him hard between the shoulder blades, nearly choking him on his food.
“That’s a Kodiak, you dumb shit,” Priest boomed, ignoring Zodiac’s scowl. “My brother is a badass when it comes to killing and weapons but he isn’t too bright sometimes.” Before Zodiac could recover and reach for his coffee again, Priest had snatched it back up.
“What about Hex over here?” Ethan jerked a thumb to his left in the brooding man’s direction.
Silence descended over the table. Hex gulped a mouthful of his food and glanced at Ethan. “I’m cursed.”
“Uh-huh.” Well, what could you say to that? Ethan wasn’t one of those hocus pocus, Voodoo and witchcraft believers.
Thankfully Hex elaborated, “On every mission something bad always happens to me. Maybe it’s because I take the most risk, but it never fails. I’m just waiting for my chute not to open
one day.”
What a bleak outlook, Negative Nancy. “And this theory of yours doesn’t make you fearful for your life?”
The Cursed One edged forward, fixing Ethan with a serious look. “No. When you know that any second may be your last, you have no room for fear. You just act on pure instinct every moment. I pity all those who are scared of every black cat, number thirteen or what have you. In the end it’s all the same – you die. And you die alone.” He sat back and shrugged one shoulder, his face relaxing. “You must accept the first rule.”
“And what’s that – that we’re already dead?”
Hex shook his head. “You accept that God has control, and you can’t change shit.”
It seemed ironic to Ethan that the message Hex was trying to deliver ran in contrast to their entire purpose of traveling through time to change history. “Then why should I try to stop anything in the past?”
The commando stared at his plate like he was contemplating what to eat next. “You will not try, because you already have.”
Okay, Master Yoda! Ethan decided he was done with the crazy talk and turned to ask Tinman where he came from, when Jackman’s shape filled the doorway and all levity drained from the room.
“Ready up!” he barked. “Time to head in.” He threw a handful of clothes to Ethan who barely managed to catch them before they landed in his plate of food. “You,” Jackman ordered, “go get dressed.”
***
April 25, 1986, 6:55 AM
All his possessions had been returned to Ethan in his sleeping quarters, but as Wallace had reminded him, they would be of no use where he was going. The unspoken order in that reminder was that Ethan must not take anything with him. In silent defiance of that order, he pocketed both sets of keys he had – the one for his mustang and apartment, and Tobias’s house key with the Steelers strap attached to its ring. He couldn’t say why, exactly, he felt compelled to hold on to those items. But for some reason, they felt like the only thing that would keep him from forgetting his past.
The walk from the room to the elevator seemed short in a way that only nervousness and apprehension could accomplish. He gave an anxious tug at the collar of his era-appropriate shirt and with each step forward, his second thoughts grew. He decided to pep talk himself before his will gave out. Isn’t this what I wanted all along? A chance to make a real difference in the world, not just lock up one criminal at a time. The result here could save countless millions.
Again the cargo elevator ride was a great joy on the ears, but the room referred to as the Axiom was completely different today. The evening before it held an eerie quiet and when the echoes of Wallace’s voice played off the walls it jarred the senses. This morning the room was a buzz of activity as a slew of technicians and engineers busied themselves completing tasks at computer terminals and checking last minute safety concerns at each cable attachment.
Wallace approached Ethan and Jackman’s team. “Welcome again. Did you sleep well?”
“Look at the bags under my eyes and think about asking again,” Ethan said.
“I see. Well, this is Dr. Parikh and he will be assisting us today.”
A small-framed, serious looking Indian man approached and stood to Ben’s left. Ethan held out his hand, but Dr. Parikh merely offered a curt nod, oozing detached professionalism. Or maybe he was afraid of germs.
“Okay, we have a lot of ground to cover and not much time,” Ben said. “I need to instruct you on your weapons, your watch, the mission, diet, and a few other minor details.”
“Diet?”
Wallace gave him a patient look. “Mr. Tannor, you will be traveling back close to forty years. Your stomach will not adapt easily to the foods of that decade; your intestines lack the proper enzymes.”
Ethan almost laughed. “Is that really a problem?”
“It is. I doubt you’d like puking up your guts because you can’t digest correctly. Unless of course, you decide to never eat again.” He chuckled, amused by his own wit.
Real comedian, this guy. “So, how do I prepare my insides then?”
“With these.” Wallace showed him a handful of medicine bottles.
“Are those drugs?”
“Sort of. These pills help coat your stomach with the needed enzymes for processing foods that your body has not been acclimated to. By the time they’re gone, your body should have built up the tolerance for digestion. As you may have guessed, these pills are limited in quantity. They’re from the future as well, so don’t lose them; they can’t be replaced.”
He handed Ethan one of the tablets for inspection. It didn’t look like something from the future, but he took Wallace’s word all the same. It was similar in shape and appearance to a Tylenol, but a distinctive ‘I’ was etched on the surface.
Ben retrieved the pill and put it back in one of the containers. “It is imperative that you take one pill every twenty-four hours for the first five days and then every two weeks until you have finished.” He shook the bottles and the pills jangled together inside. It sounded like a lot of them.
“Sounds easy enough for me to forget.”
Wallace directed Ethan’s attention to a large, well-used and dated duffel bag sitting on the platform. It would fit in perfectly with the 1940s. “There are other essentials that will be sent back with you in that travel case, including some syringes with a specially formulated pain medication from my time. Be wise in deciding when to use them.
“And this is your most important tool,” he went on, holding up an object. “Your watch.” It looked the same as the one found in Uncle Tobias’s safe – if not the same one. “You must not lose it – this cannot be found by anyone. Just as I mentioned before, the dangers of bringing things from the future to the past are extreme; that should be self-explanatory by now. Make a conscious effort to always wear long sleeves to keep it covered. The 1940s are very different from today; something like this sticks out, and as always your goal is to blend.”
Ethan nodded, but felt the sudden urge to crawl back into that small bed he’d stumbled out of less than an hour before. The weight of this undertaking now felt unbearably heavy.
“Just going back will change small things. So I must stress to you that it is of utmost importance you stay as low profile as possible. Try not to interact much with anyone – or intervene in anything – except when dealing with the Sons of Stalin.”
“I have a question.”
“I’m certain you have many, but please – we must make it quick.”
The look on Wallace’s face made Ethan want to yell with frustration – to lash out by reminding Wallace that he didn’t have to do this. But deep down Ethan understood time was dwindling. “So, if I’m going to be sent back in a few moments, and let’s say that – for theoretical and God protect my life purposes – it works. Would that mean that I’ve already made it there as we speak?”
Wallace studied him for a long moment as if trying to decide how much to reveal. Then he inclined his head. “For the sake of argument, yes. Time is a strange thing, you must understand. What is done can seemingly never be undone. In the here and now things are what they were and always will be, but beyond this is what is changeable.”
What the hell am I getting myself into? Rather than voice his concerns Ethan just nodded again.
Wallace tilted his head, waiting for another question that would never come. “Either you are satisfied with my answer or more confused.”
“Both.”
He gave a thin smile. “Alright then. Now, we’ve made as many safeguards as possible. Along with the various items in your travel case, we’re sending a specialized gun back with you. If you lose the weapon at any point, turn this dial here on the face of the watch and then press this prong.”
Wallace mimed a demonstration of the act. “It will detonate a small explosive in your gun, destroying it to prevent examination or discovery by others. The explosive is implanted inside the wall of the pistol grip and synced to the watch.” He extend
ed the timepiece toward Ethan and pointed to the watch face. “If you would, put your thumb here until you hear the beep.”
Ethan did as he was ordered and a bright blue line traced a path down from the top of the screen to the bottom. A soft beep sounded, and he removed his thumb. The display now read ‘UNLOCKED’, which pissed him off and amazed him at the same time. Hours had been spent trying to force his way into the strange contraption, and the action he’d just performed would have never crossed his mind. Why would it?
“This is another safeguard as well,” Wallace said. “No one else will be able to use the device except you.”
“What if I’m killed and my fingers are chopped off?”
“Try not to let that happen.” He motioned to Ethan, “Give me your wrist.”
Ethan complied. Wallace slid the timepiece over his hand and down his wrist.
“This might sting a bit,” he said, and pressed another prong. The spring loaded hooks shot out, clamping onto Ethan’s skin.
I knew it! Ethan remembered his earlier reservations about the claw hooks when he’d first examined Tobias’s watch. He grunted as the claws pierced his flesh and locked into place. “That was more than a sting.” He looked down at the watch and saw a graphic of words run across the screen: ‘ANALYZING DNA SEQUENCE’.
Wallace smiled again. “Now, if you will please look to the left and focus on that generator.”
Ethan was getting tired of that superficial grin on Wallace’s face; nevertheless, he obeyed the directive. Then he gasped in shock and pain. What had felt like a snake sinking three inch fangs into his forearm shot through him with a jolt.
“What the fuck!” Ethan snapped his head around, gaping at his sore arm. A dot of blood was oozing from the wound. When Ethan glared up at Wallace, the man hid an object resembling a nail gun behind his back.
And the Tide Turns Page 16
