by Bob Blink
Timelines
Bob Blink
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright 2006 by Robert Blink
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
First edition: June 2010
First revision: August 2010
This one is for the two ladies in my life,
Evelina and Nicole Blink
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a book, especially a first book, requires the support and feedback from friends and family. All provide input, insight, correction, and encouragement. I owe special thanks to the following individuals who, in addition to the above, spent many hours marking up the rough manuscript and providing their comments to improve the end product. My special thanks to Robert Fahey, Connie Goshgarian, Doug Burr, Bill Luebke, Bill Maggiora, and Karen Craig.
Cover art by Kelsey Giosso.
Chapter 1
Present Day – Friday, 19 May 2006
Seattle, Washington
It was my gun. I could tell that from across the desk without having to see the serial number or looking for some of the identifying scrapes and scratches I had inflicted on it over several years of rough carry. Inspecting it would have been difficult in any case. Where the rock-hardened mud and filth had been broken or chipped away, the metal was corroded or rusted. The action was clearly frozen in position, and it was a wonder they had managed to recover a serial number from the weathered remains. The day I lost it a little over twelve years ago was still fresh in my mind. The circumstances surrounding its loss had made it impossible to recover, although we had tried. What were the chances of it turning up here and now? But it had, and it was going to be a problem. After all, how many of the heavy Colt Anacondas could there be, modified with the after-market combat sights I preferred, and looking as if they had been buried in the Arizona desert for a thousand years. Okay, 1468 years if you want to be precise.
I looked up at the two men who had moments before been escorted into my office, at least the one provided to me for the duration of my consulting assignment with Aero-Technologies. It was an assignment I now suspected would be ending much sooner than I had originally planned. The older of the two men stared at me with a cold intensity since placing the dirt encrusted, rusted, and broken remains of the revolver on the center of my papers without a word. The other agent, I was guessing here since they had displayed no identification, was a couple of decades younger than the first and closer to my age. He stood back a couple of steps and watched more with curiosity than hostility. I wondered if I could use that somehow. So far, no one had said a word. From their attitude and access I knew these two were government of some kind. The President of Aero-Technologies would not be escorting just anyone around the secure hallways of his company. I didn’t like where this might be headed, however little they really knew.
“This is Jim Crampton,” my boss had told the men unnecessarily when he had brought them into my office. The two agents knew who I was. They had come looking for me after all. Now they looked at me from across the desk. I wondered if I was what they had expected. At forty-four, I looked closer to my early thirties. Six foot-one, with light brown hair and an athletic build, I still kept in shape with a lot of walking and hiking. A physicist by training, I had moved into applied engineering, and was half owner in my own consulting business.
“We can handle this from here,” growled the senior agent.
I could tell that my boss was unhappy with the abrupt dismissal on his own turf. That, and his natural curiosity about what was going on, almost caused him to raise an objection and press to stay for the explanation that he expected from me. After all, we had become friends of a sort over the last five years and multiple assignments I had had with his company. My inputs had a significant impact on the bottom line and growth of the company from a small start-up to a leader in this area of secret government development. The fact his company served my own interests was unknown to him. More than once he had tried to bring me on board full time, but that would have conflicted with my true priorities and I had managed to duck the issue enough times he had let it go. Heavy leverage had been applied to him today, and after a few seconds during which he stared at me as if he could judge my guilt that way, he simply turned and left. The younger agent closed the door behind him and turned back to follow the lead of his superior.
“Where did you find it?” I asked innocently. “It looks like the one I lost.”
I figured I might as well get an admission in up front. They were clearly going to ask if I recognized it. There was no ducking the fact it belonged to me and they wouldn’t be here if they didn’t know that. My mind was having trouble staying focused on dealing with the immediate issues rather than trying to access longer-term implications to the whole team. I needed to know what these two knew or suspected. The fact I was being questioned here rather than being hauled off somewhere was the only good sign since this interview had started.
“Then you admit. . . .,” started the younger one only to be cut off sharply by a hand gesture from the other.
I looked at the senior agent, if that’s what he was. Close to sixty, his sandy hair was thinning and starting to show the gray despite its natural color. Blue-gray eyes were set into wrinkled skin. His eyes appeared alert, suspicious, and oddly angry. He looked tired and worn out, yet somehow the effect seemed a relatively recent development. What had been a very fit body despite his age was showing signs of recent neglect as though something had caused him to give up.
Both he and his younger partner were dressed in casual sports clothes. No formal dark suits today and no ties. Whatever they were, they weren’t FBI. Still no identification or names though, and they had enough confidence in their authority that they didn’t need to display any. If I pressed, I’m sure they could show me all the identification and authority they needed to come question me in this manner.
“Why don’t you just tell us your story?” the senior one barked.
“Story. What is going on here?” I asked, pretending innocence. “Has that gun been used in some sort of crime?”
I knew that it couldn’t have, but I was trying to figure out what my expected reactions should be.
“I don’t even know that it’s mine. I mean the one I lost. It sure looks the same. I can’t believe it could have deteriorated so much.”
“Oh, it’s yours alright. It took some doing, but the serial number was recovered and it checks with the number you have on file for such a revolver purchased new about fifteen years ago.”
There was more to it than that, though. It wasn’t all he knew and he didn’t like what he didn’t understand. I got the feeling that he was quoting details someone else had handed him about the gun, and not facts he had uncovered himself. He was acting as though someone was playing a trick on him, and he wasn’t happy about it. And it was more than just the gun, although I had no idea what else might be bothering him. I looked more closely at the man. I was going to need to remember this individual and make sure the others would know him on sight. Whatever happened this afternoon, this one was not going away.
“Tell us the circumstances that caused you to ‘lose’ it,” he asked, with clear emphasis that he doubted it had actually been lost.
“Well,” I responded, trying to sound natural but trying to quickly organize my thoughts at the same time. I could tell him where without issue, but the when was
going to require some finesse. I decided to adjust the time of the loss a few months.
“It was about thirteen years ago, in the spring.”
A lie. It had been in the dead of winter, right after Christmas. But he wouldn’t buy a camping trip at that time of year. Lisa and Pat had thought I was nuts when I suggested it.
“I went on a two week trip into the San Francisco Mountains in north-west Arizona. A bit southeast of the Grand Canyon. Near a place called Humphrey’s Peak.”
The location was at least accurate.
“Who was with you?” asked the younger man. I guessed he was hoping for a name that he could use to check my story.
“I was alone,” I replied carefully. “I went camping alone a lot back then.”
Another lie. I did go out on my own a lot for a while after my father and brother died in the boating accident. However this trip I was accompanied by two of my closest friends.
A nod of the head by the leader. So he had done some checking on my history.
“Why there?” he asked. “I got the impression that you usually stuck closer to home, here in the mountains around Seattle.”
I didn’t have a good answer for this. At least not one I could reveal.
“I don’t really remember. Someone I met recommended the area as a change of pace. I thought I would give it a try. As it turned out, the hike was a bust. I lost the gun, and ended up coming home early.”
“And just where was the gun lost?”
I described the area, although not the purpose, as best I could recall. I knew the area within a couple of miles where it had to have fallen out of the holster and gave them an accurate picture of the area and terrain. The younger agent was nodding his head as if he was somewhat familiar with the area and recognized the accuracy of my description.
But the other wasn’t having it. “Interesting,” he smiled slowly. “But how come your gun was found over a hundred miles from where you say you lost it?”
“Someone found it,” I exclaimed inadvertently.
“Convenient,” he responded doubtfully. “Or perhaps you aren’t telling us everything?”
Of course I wasn’t!
“What were you shooting at?” suddenly asked the younger agent. The older one quickly shot him a look to shut him up.
“I hadn’t shot at anything,” I lied. “The gun was full when it was lost.”
And it had been. I had reloaded it with the last of the cartridges I had brought with me. At that point I had had two spare rounds plus a full cylinder, a total of eight shots. By this time Lisa and Pat were both dead, and I was being stalked by at least a half dozen men intent on killing me.
Reluctantly the older agent responded since the issue had already been breached. I knew he had been planning on trying to trip me up with this point. Apparently, scanning tests of the rusted remains showed that all six chambers held expended brass cases. No loaded rounds remained in the gun.
So whoever found the gun had fired it. I casually wondered if anyone had been hurt.
I had to ask the obvious question, although I already knew they could have no idea how the gun had been used. “Is that why you are here with all these questions? Was someone shot with my gun? It wasn’t me!”
The older one started to warm to the issue of how the gun had been used. I guess because it was more along the lines of questioning that he felt comfortable. The younger agent was tiring of the game, and once again spoke what was on his mind to the frustration of the lead agent.
“We don’t know how the gun was used,” he said. “But look at it. It didn’t get like that in a dozen years or so. Can you explain how your gun came to be found in a cave wrapped in a cloth that had been scientifically dated at over twelve hundred years old?”
Damn it! They already had too much information, even if they didn’t realize it as yet!
Chapter 2
Twelve and a half years earlier
December 1993
Pat and Lisa knew I was up to something. They just couldn’t figure out what. It was a cold December weekend. The three of us, frustrated because there wasn’t enough snow for skiing this year, sat around the wood fire in their cabin with wine in hand after a superb dinner. I am sure they had noted that I had been more withdrawn than usual, but had chosen to let it go and see if I would explain what might be bothering me.
In truth, I had made a decision. It was just hard to actually take the first step. I had turned thirty-two the previous month and had no immediate family. My mother had died when I was three, and my brother and father a couple of years before in an accident. That accident had brought me back to Seattle after several years absence. It ultimately resulted in a career change from the secret government work I had been doing since graduating from Caltech in a very specialized branch of physics. Pat and Lisa were the closest I had to family. I had known both since elementary school. Pat and I grew up best buddies, and Lisa became attached to Pat during high school.
I had a secret I had been keeping from them for the past year and a half. Well, from them and everyone else. I had found something, something big. And I had kept it as my own special toy, exploring in wonder and amazement while trying to decide how to proceed. I now knew what IT did, although I had no idea about how it worked or who or what created IT. I had learned absolutely nothing about the working or origins at all. I couldn’t even activate any of the equipment or decipher any of the symbolic writing in the control area. And I had spent months trying.
I had decided it was time to go official. I just hoped to be part of the investigations that would follow, but had a limited trust of government secrecy and realized I could become an outsider. So, before taking the fateful step, I had decided to first show it to my closest friends, and seek their advice. Of course, I had to show them in my own way. You didn’t just tell someone about something like this.
And so, two days after Christmas, I somehow managed to drag them out into the freezing weather. I took them to the hidden cave a little more than an hour’s drive outside of Seattle, never mind where. We walked through deliberately darkened tunnels to the second cave where the gear I had accumulated the previous week lay in a pile. In addition to the backpacks we always had ready to go, there was food and water for a couple of weeks, sleeping bags, a couple of two-man tents, and three motorized trail bikes equipped with carry boxes on the rear. There was extra gasoline, although the enlarged tanks carried enough to cover the range I anticipated traveling this trip. Just in case, a few extra gallons had seemed prudent. The auto club wasn’t going be on hand to help out this trip.
Pat was first to recognize some of his gear. “You can’t be thinking we are going camping? In this weather?”
“Actually -- yes,” I answered, as I unzipped my Northface jacket. I was already getting warm and noted that they had started slipping off gloves and hats as well. “I think you will find it a bit more pleasant outside than you expect. Take a look.”
I dropped my jacket on the pile and headed toward the front of the cave. Like the cave we had used to enter, the entrance to this cave was tight and would have been difficult to spot from the outside. Pat and Lisa trailed behind me talking together with Lisa shaking her head. They had their jackets unzipped now as well because the temperature was a pleasant seventy-five degrees in the cave, but unlike me they brought everything with them. They were prepared to bundle up as soon as we hit the cold wind outside. Of course, I knew better.
“What the hell,” exclaimed Pat, as he and Lisa made their way through the exit from the interior of the cave.
We were still in the mountains, with lots of pine and scrub brush all around. Here, however, instead of a blanket of snow, the ground was covered with the fresh blooming flowers of spring. There was a light breeze blowing instead of a winter gale and the temperature was already almost eighty degrees beneath a blue sky with almost no clouds. We had entered the other cave in mid afternoon and here it was about ten o’clock in the morning. It was a beautiful day!
“This is impossible,” stated Lisa. “We were in the cave less than ten minutes and now this.”
“Give,” demanded Pat. “Where the hell are we? And how?”
I almost gave in at that point, but then decided to follow my original plan. “I told you I had something I wanted you to see,” I said. “This is part of it. Two days. Give it two days. Pat, you’re the historian and part-time geologist. You tell me. Look around. You have your usual travel kit in the pack in the cave. But no questions for now. Let’s enjoy and explore. After two days, I’ll come clean if you haven’t figured it out.”
Pat wanted to argue, but Lisa broke the impasse. She was enthralled by the beautiful day and the chance to get out and explore. She said something about getting her bike packed, and that got us all moving back to the gear inside.
Everyone emptied out their packs and put the contents into the motor bike storage. Food, fuel, and clothes went into the side and rear carryalls. Pat and I strapped on our handguns, something we seldom hiked without. He found his GPS unit while emptying the side pockets of the pack, and turned in on with glee. Deciding the cave was blocking his signal he hurried outside to get a reading. He was back in several minutes with a strange look on his face.
“No signal, not a single satellite. That’s not possible.”
“No questions, not yet. We agreed,” I responded.
After completing the loading, we wheeled the bikes outside into the sun. A quick radio check verified the trail radios were all on the same frequency and working. I didn’t expect us to be separated, not here, but it is best to be ready just in case. Lisa had tried her cell phone a bit earlier, but quietly shook her head when she failed to get coverage, and didn’t say anything to Pat or me. We were ready to go, so I pointed out a direction, roughly northwest and down the canyon into the flats beyond.
