by Karl Morgan
Aria walked out of the small room and closed the door behind her. "I know this place looks familiar, but there is a good reason for that. Since it's your responsibility, why don't you tell them, Bea?"
"This home is a historical monument belonging to the Ezekiel Thompson College of Science and Prophecy," she began. "I am a professor of prophecy and languages and director of the museum that owns this place. But as you note, it doesn't look much different from the twenty-first century, and we pride ourselves for that. Let's go see something else that does look different. Follow me." She walked to the front door, opened it and stepped into the midday sun.
In the center of what had been the large sloping lawn was a concrete circular slab about sixty feet in diameter. Sitting in the center was a vehicle of some sort. It was sixty feet long and ten feet wide and sat on several struts. The front was a glass cone and windows lined the rest of the fuselage on both sides. A door was open and a gangway reached down to the ground. At the back of the vehicle were three large nozzles that looked as if they came from a rocket of some kind. Bea walked to the top of the gangway and motioned the others to join her inside.
When the Thompsons entered the vehicle, they saw there were ten rows of seats, two seats on either side of a wide aisle. The seats were plush with a three-point harness for security. Three more seats were located at the power console up front. Bea sat down in the first row of passenger seats and demonstrated how to buckle the restraints. "Okay, everyone sit down and buckle in."
"What kind of game is this, Bea?" Sarah asked.
"Sarah, this is no game," Bea noted. "You wanted to know that you and your family will be safe. I said I know that because I'm from the future. You doubted that, so now here we are in the future. You're going on the ride of your life that will prove I was telling the truth. Hopefully, you will go back to your time and stop worrying so much." Sarah said nothing, but sat next to Bea and buckled herself in.
Aria checked everyone's restraints for safety and then sat at the pilot's seat and buckled herself in. She pressed a button and the gangway folded away and the door closed and sealed itself. She put a small headset on and said, "Shuttle ZT5 is ready for takeoff for the mainland. Do I have clearance? Roger that." She moved some levers and keyed commands into the console. The engines came to life, but their sound was soft, like a low rumble. "Here we go, gang!"
The shuttle floated up into the air. Within seconds, it was several hundred feet over the surface. The Pacific Ocean glistened in the afternoon sunlight. The ship turned silently. "The acceleration can be a bit disconcerting," Bea said. The shuttle shot away to the east at high speed. Maui disappeared within seconds. The Big Island was visible for five seconds on the right and then nothing but the deep blue of the ocean.
"How fast are we going, Aria?" Abe asked.
"We're heading up to five thousand miles per hour. We'll cruise at that speed for twenty minutes and begin our deceleration."
"Wow!" Abe replied.
Zeke watched the world zip past in stunned silence. He would see a bank of clouds in the distance. The shuttle would reach them in seconds and leave them far behind almost instantly. He looked to his left and saw his mother and Bea chatting happily. "It's all real," he thought to himself as he closed his eyes and dozed off.
§
"Zeke, we're here," Bea whispered in his ear. He opened his eyes and noticed the shuttle had landed on a concrete circle in the center of an expanse of grass. Bea unbuckled his restraint and led him out the door and down the gangway where Aria was waiting with Sarah and Abe. Bea took his arm and said, "I envy you, Zeke. You can fall asleep just about anywhere. Did you dream about anything?"
"Nothing good," he replied as they joined the others. Aria turned and began to walk toward a large sandstone building with a portico across the entire front supported by columns. "Where are we, Bea?"
"This is the campus of the Ezekiel Thompson College of Science and Prophecy," she replied. She pointed toward the portico and asked, "Can you read what it says up there?"
"Science knows, but prophecy believes," Zeke read. "Is all of this real? Sometimes I think I'll wake up back in that barber chair before all of this began to happen."
"Oh, it's real all right," Aria laughed. She stopped and pointed to her right. Sitting inside a gated fence was the Thompson home. It was no longer on a neighborhood street, but sat on a field of grass surrounded by flower beds. "Don't worry, it's not the original. Frankly, we've been traveling to your time gathering data for this school. Perhaps we can take a tour later, and you can tell me where we made mistakes."
The group climbed the stone steps and walked through the massive doors. The foyer was circular and one hundred feet in diameter. Sets of double doors leading deeper into the building were at each key compass point. The open walls were covered by pictures of people. Aria led them to the largest, which was a painting of Zeke and Peter Smith. They were standing in the Oval Office with a third man between them. Zeke assumed that man was a future president. Peter looked quite old, with thin white hair and a deeply wrinkled brow. Zeke's hair was graying, but appeared much younger than Smith. "What is this picture about, Aria?"
Bea said, "According to your book, ‘A Simple Life’ Volume 7, you and Peter met with President Lancaster just after he was reelected. He is best remembered for trying to stop the decline of democracy in the West that eventually led to The War."
"The war?" Abe asked.
"Don't worry," Aria interrupted. "Lancaster did a great job and delayed it for more than one hundred years."
"What happened during the war?" Abe pressed.
"I'm sorry, Abe, but we're really not authorized to discuss anything else," Aria replied. "Let me check, and I'll let you know what else I can tell you." Abe nodded but did not look happy.
"Aria, I still don't understand how science and fortune-telling can be related," Zeke said.
Aria grinned and replied, "Well, I certainly can't tell you that, Zeke. You are the one who gets to figure that out."
"Okay, I suppose that's fair. So, what do we do now?"
"I think the tour is at an end," she replied. "Now you've seen the future and not just the same room. I'll fly us back to Hawaii and then it's back to your time."
Chapter 14
Things had begun to slow down since the Thompsons had visited the future. Activities in the Maui house focused on writing and enjoying the sunshine and the nearby beach. Abe Thompson discovered a knack for turning phrases and weaving tales that had long been dormant during his business career. Each time he shared his work with his son, Zeke was impressed by Abe's hidden talent. Today was Sunday, and the plan for the day was football.
Zeke and his father sat on the couch opposite the flat-screen television. The commentators were talking about the prospects for the day and which athletes would play or were still injured. Sarah walked in from the kitchen with a bowl of guacamole and another full of tortilla chips. She set them down on the coffee table and turned to leave the room, just as a breaking news alert caught her attention.
"It has just been reported that Air Force One has crashed in the Ohio countryside. At this time, we have no details on the crash or even whether the president was on board at the time. Repeating this urgent bulletin, Air Force One has crashed. We will provide further reports as they become available."
The Thompsons were in shock. All the color had drained out of Zeke's face and trickles of sweat rolled down his brow. "Oh my God, Zeke!" Sarah cried.
"Maybe President Nelson wasn't on board," Abe noted. Zeke stared at the screen, unable to say a word. "Zeke, was he on board?"
"I don't know," Zeke squeaked.
§
Vice President Andrew Lake sat at the head of the conference table in the situation room at the White House. The secretary of defense and the directors of the FBI and CIA sat on either side of him. "What do we know, Carl?" Lake asked.
Carl Madison, director of the FBI replied, "Ben is in a medically induced coma at Walter R
eed, Andy. Everyone else on board died on impact. The NTSB will be on the ground within two hours, and the Army has already cordoned off the crash site."
"Is Ben expected to survive?" Tony Marshall, director of the CIA asked.
"It's too early to tell, Tony," Carl replied. He looked at Tony for a moment and then turned his attention to the vice president, saying, "With all due respect to Tony, why is he here, Andy?"
"That was my idea, Carl," interjected Frank Albright, secretary of defense. "Tony came to Andy and me a few days ago talking about structural problems with Air Force One. When this happened, that conversation clicked in my mind."
"Frank, please excuse me for asking, but did your people check out the planes?" Carl asked.
The door opened and Attorney General Cynthia Travers entered, sat down and asked, "What did I miss?"
"Tony was just about to tell us about the prior warning on Air Force One," Carl noted.
"It was in my report," Tony began. "I met with a man named Ezekiel Thompson from California. He claims to have some capability to foresee future events."
Cindy stifled a laugh and replied, "Yes, I remember that now. Why did you go personally, Tony? I would have thought any agent would do to debunk this mumbo-jumbo."
Tony frowned at his boss. "In my report, I noted that foreign agents from North Korea and South America have both attempted to kidnap Mr. Thompson. The North Koreans actually tried twice! At first, they bribed some FBI agents to get their hands on him. Somehow, a Mexican drug lord got to him first. Then the North Koreans paid a second drug lord to get him from the first, leading to a massive gun battle where the Koreans and many others were killed. Then you authorized Carl to put him in a safe house in Hawaii. On the flight from North Island NAS to Maui, co-opted CIA agents kidnapped him and took him to South America where he was held by another drug dealer."
"So, you want us to believe that this Thompson fellow actually can see the future?" Cindy quizzed. "You really believe his stories?"
"I don't know, but this young man is drawing a lot of attention," Tony replied and then turned to the secretary of defense. "Frank, could you please answer Carl's last question? Did your people check out the planes?"
"I don't care for the tone of your insinuation, Tony," Frank bristled. "If I received the report, it was checked," Frank lied.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Secretary," Tony replied. He turned to the vice president and said, "I'm not sure if I have any other answers, sir."
Andy stood up and looked at the small group in the room, sizing them up for his brainstorm. "Let's look at this logically, folks. The only clue we have to this tragedy is the Thompson fellow, who is already known to attract attention from North Korea and multiple drug cartels. We have to wait for their report, but if the NTSB blames the crash on structural problems, there can only be a few possibilities." He smiled and waited while his words sank in. "The first possibility is that Frank lied and never told his people to check the planes. Second, he told them and his people screwed up big time. Both of those options require us to believe Thompson is a prophet, like Moses from the Old Testament. Frankly, I think that is unlikely." He walked over to a small refrigerator and withdrew a bottle of water. He twisted off the cap and took a long drink. "Fortunately, there are other possibilities that don't require precognition. Tony just told us there were crooked agents in both the CIA and FBI. I think Thompson is managing them to make us look bad."
Tony looked back in utter disbelief. "Mr. Vice President, Zeke Thompson is a very young man. I hardly see how he could have perpetrated all of this."
"Don't be naive, Tony!" Andy shouted. "Our country has many enemies. What better weapon to lead their spies than the last person anyone would ever consider? I'll bet he has people inside DOD who damaged that plane just before the fateful takeoff. Thompson has been the victim so far, making him the last person to suspect. It's the perfect cover."
The FBI director said, "Your idea has some merit, Andy, but I doubt we have anything concrete to charge Thompson with at this time."
"I don't care, Carl," the vice president scowled. "Thompson is a menace to this great country. Every minute he is free, he is likely planning the next attack. We have to lock him up and find out who his handlers and black agents are."
"With all due respect, Mr. Vice President, we cannot ignore the law," Cindy said.
"Listen to the four of you whine like babies," the vice president replied. "Our dear friend, the president of the United States is on life-support across town. The American people don't even know if he is still alive. And we can't tell them if he will recover. Our enemies do not care about any of us. They will use these moments of weakness to strike again and again." He looked at his watch. "I am riding over to Walter Reed with Alice in ten minutes. What do you want me to tell her and her children?" He sighed heavily and finished, "Carl, do the right thing. Arrest Thompson and put him somewhere no one can find him until this gets straightened out." He turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Cindy said, "Carl, arrest Thompson as soon as possible and turn him over to Tony. Tony, find a place to keep Thompson away from everyone for a while. Now, please leave. I need to speak to the secretary for a moment." Carl and Tony stood and walked silently out of the room and closed the door.
"What is it, Cindy?" Frank asked.
"You son of a bitch! You didn't tell your men to check those planes, did you?" she fumed.
"How dare you make such an accusation?" he screamed.
She stood up and pointed at the secretary, saying, "I'm going to get to the bottom of this mess, Frank, and you'd better hope there are fresh maintenance reports or it's going to be your head." He started to reply, but she turned and walked away.
§
Zeke was handcuffed and shackled to the jump seats in a C-17 Globemaster Air Force cargo jet. Across the open interior, four military police watched over him. His face was bruised, his left eye blackened and his clothes torn. It had been early morning on the third day after he returned from the future when the soldiers arrived at the door along with two FBI agents. Now, six hours later, he was away from his family, and that was all he knew. His parents had tried to reason with the agents, but they were ignored. Agent Paul Rubens warned them that if they made the arrest public, their home would be seized and their lottery winnings confiscated as part of an international espionage plot. He then ordered the security detail to keep the Thompsons in their home, disconnect their phone and Internet service and take their mobile phones. The last image Zeke had in his mind of his parents was his mother crying and Abe trying futilely to calm her down.
Their vehicles drove from the Maui house to the Kahului Airport, where the military jet was parked on a pad far from the terminal. The FBI agents took Zeke on board the airplane and requested the soldiers wait a few minutes outside. The cockpit crew was ordered to prepare for travel but not leave the cockpit. Agent Mark Summers chained Zeke's feet together and then connected the shackles to the metal jump seats, and then pushed Zeke down. "Listen, you son of a bitch," Summers had begun, "we know you are the lead agent in the plan to assassinate President Nelson. It will go easier for you if you just confess right now."
"I didn't do anything!" Zeke protested.
Summers backhanded him across the face. "Don't you lie to us, punk!" He punched Zeke in the stomach, making him double over."
"That's enough, Mark," Agent Rubens said, inserting himself between the two men. "Listen, Zeke, you seem like a reasonable guy. Just tell us the truth and everything will be okay."
"All I did was tell Director Marshall that one of the Air Force One jets had structural problems. He said he would get it checked out."
"How did you know about the problems?" Paul asked.
Zeke looked worried. He knew no one here would believe him. "Sometimes I see stuff before it happens."
Paul slugged Zeke on the other side of his face, knocking him down on the seat. "You are nothing but a worthless pile of shit! We were told
you would make up some stupid story like this. ESP is bullshit! The only way you knew is because you and your pals did it." He clapped Agent Summers on the shoulder and said, "Let's get out of here, Mark. The CIA knows how to get the truth out of trash like this." The two men walked away, opened the door of the plane, and climbed out. Zeke pulled himself up to a sitting position and spat blood onto the floor of the plane. His left eye was swelling closed quickly.
Minutes later, the four soldiers climbed on board. Sergeant Mike Singleton hurried over to a cabinet and withdrew a first aid kid and then treated Zeke's injuries. "Those assholes did this to you?" he said to Zeke.
"Let him die, Mike!" one of the other soldiers said as he strapped in. "He tried to kill the president!"
"No, I didn't," Zeke moaned softly.
"Were you involved?" Mike whispered. Zeke shook his head.
§
Zeke shuddered at the memory of the assault. He could also sense that the plane was losing altitude. Wherever they were headed, they were almost there. Singleton unbuckled his restraint and walked over and sat next to Zeke. "We're landing in a little bit at Elmendorf Air Force Base in Alaska. The CIA will meet this flight and our orders are to hand you over to them, okay?" Zeke nodded. "Mr. Thompson, if you were involved in the crash of the president's plane, I hope they kill you slowly. If you are innocent, I apologize for all of this."
"Thank you," Zeke said. The soldier went back to his seat and buckled his restraints.
§
The convoy of black vehicles snaked through the Alaskan wilderness for hours. The lights of Anchorage had long faded away. Zeke was in the fourth car in the convoy. Two agents sat up front and one next to him. All were heavily armed and appeared not to be very happy with this task. No one asked about his injuries or spoke to him at all. It was very dark outside now, with only a few oncoming headlights from time to time. He thought about his trip to the FBI ranch outside San Diego and wondered if more North Koreans might be waiting at his new home. "When can I call my parents or a lawyer?" he asked. The agent seated next to him flashed a frown and turned away without speaking.
