The Navigators

by Dan Alatorre

  I spun around, taking it all in. There were satellite news vans everywhere. Chanel 8 was probably going to beam their egomaniacal morning news anchor, Jonas Brown—Tampa’s self-appointed Most Trusted Name In News—in on a live feed from downtown. I glanced back at Findlay. He grinned from ear to ear, bouncing his legs like pogo sticks.

  “Test, one, two. Test.”

  I glanced back at the bookstore. Still no sign of Melissa.

  Moving closer to the stage, I kept my head pointed down, using the ball cap to hide my face. The asshole Findlay would spot me if I got too close. Several campus security guards stood nearby. Maybe he expected a confrontation.

  Clearing his throat, Findlay adjusted his mic a second and third time. Any minute now, this event would start. Where is Melissa? What am I supposed to do if she doesn’t get back in time?

  The TV feed came on. Jonas Brown appeared on the giant screen, talking about a local housing project, and hinting at a special report live from the USF campus moments away. Then they went to a commercial.

  What to do?

  Tackle… tackle. Jump up on stage and grab Findlay? I twisted my fingers together. He was a little shorter than me, but he might be wiry. And what if some of the other people on stage joined in to help him? Things could get embarrassing quickly.

  But, it would be a distraction…

  I moved closer, still hiding behind the fat guy. He wanted a good spot for the show.

  The commercial ended. Jonas Brown was back on TV. I could feel my heart in my throat, making me want to vomit.

  The lights got suddenly brighter up on the stage. Findlay beamed from ear to ear.

  The USF logo came up behind Jonas Brown. The caption said “Major scientific Breakthrough at USF?” Good grief, what did Findlay tell these people?

  As I watched him, his eyes met mine. Findlay bolted out of his chair and pointed right at me. “There’s one of them! That’s one of the thieves!”

  My heart stopped. Thief? Me?

  The security guards scowled, moving toward me. I clutched my stomach and glanced around. Should I run onto the stage? Or just run away?

  And where is Melissa?

  I glimpsed the platform holding Findlay and the others. It stood almost five feet high. There was no way I’d be able to jump up there. Shit. Should I run away?

  The guards pushed through the crowd toward me. I turned to run and smashed right into the fat guy with the cheese Danishes, losing my balance and falling backwards. Before I could even hit the ground, something grabbed me under the arms.

  More campus security—coming from the other direction. I never even saw them.

  They yanked me up, lifting me off the ground.

  On the projection TV, Jonas Brown said, “Hello.” Findlay jumped up and down like a monkey, seeing me being apprehended.

  He quickly regained his composure and addressed Jonas Brown. Narrowing his eyes, Findlay opened his mouth to reply.

  Whack!

  Findlay’s head rocked as something splattered against the side of his face. With one eye shut and one big pasty mouth hanging open, he put a hand to his cheek. The offending object was a clear liquid, delivered in . . . a water balloon? The gathered crowd “Ooh”ed in disbelief.

  Splat! A water balloon hit Dean Anderson.

  “Findlay!” Someone yelled from the crowd. “You dick!”

  Wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses, and a huge green USF baseball jersey, Melissa pulled a water-filled condom from a plastic shopping bag and threw it.

  “Findlay!” She called again, preparing to lob another bomb. He squinted into the crowd.

  Then, from the mob of students, came: “Suck it, you asshole!”

  Another missile sailed.

  Findlay took another direct hit.

  The TV cameramen zoomed in on Melissa. When they did, she spun around and dropped her pants.

  “Kiss my ass, Findlay!” she yelled, slapping her bare butt for the cameras.

  That, the cameramen didn’t want to miss. But the offstage director shouted that it couldn’t go on the air, and he dumped out of the live feed. The big screen went blank.

  Mission accomplished.

  The campus cops dropped me to go get Melissa, who was obviously the bigger threat. She moved into the crowd, stripping off the glasses and hat. She undid her pony tail and shook out her long brown hair, then peeled off the jersey and dropped it to the ground.

  Then, she calmly—but quickly—mingled into the chaotic crowd and disappeared.

  Which was my cue to disappear, too.

  In the distance, the beep-beep-beep of a backing truck was barely audible as a tow truck locked on to Melissa’s car.

  While Findlay wiped the water off his over-moussed head, I slipped away with a group of cheerleaders who had been assembled for the live shot. After the commotion started, they bailed, and I bailed with them.

  Halfway across the commons, and far enough from Findlay to avoid scrutiny, I made a break for the bookstore. From there, I could sneak through the parking lots and work my way back to my dorm room.

  When I was almost there, my cell phone rang. Melissa.

  I didn’t know if I should answer it. What if she has been caught and they were now tracking us all down?

  I swallowed hard and pushed the green button.

  “Peeky! It’s me!” Melissa was out of breath.

  I walked along the sidewalk as fast as I could without drawing attention. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I got away. But don’t go back to your room. There was a ton of security at the commons. Findlay was expecting us. They probably have somebody waiting at my apartment and at your dorm room, too.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “Oh, shit! What am I supposed to do?”

  “Don’t go to your dorm. Don’t go anywhere you’d normally go.”

  “Should I stay off the phone?” Her answers were scaring me a little.

  She chuckled. “Peeky, don’t be a schmuck. They’re campus cops, not the FBI. Get to a safe place like a bar, or someplace else you don’t usually go. Then, lay low. Call me when you get there and I’ll come get you.”

  “How are you going to come get me? Your car got towed.”

  “Shit, really? I’ll have to borrow a friend’s car, then.”

  I frowned. “I told you not to park there!”

  “I’ll get a car, don’t worry. Then we can check on Barry.”

  “Barry,” I grumbled. “That jerk never showed.”

  “There wasn’t time. But now he isn’t answering his phone.”

  I thought for a moment. “I’ll make my way to the Pancake House on 56th street. Come get me there.”

  “What!” Melissa was huffing and puffing. “That’s like a five mile hike. Just, you know, go to the Chick-Fil-A across the street from school or something.”

  “I can’t! I live at that Chick-Fil-A! You said to go where I don’t usually go. I never eat pancakes.”

  “Geez, okay, fine. The Pancake House. Or wherever. Call me when you get there, but I’ll need at least an hour.”

  “Okay.” I ended the call. Drenched in sweat, partly from running but mostly from fear, I started walking again. It felt like every person on the street knew what I was up to.

  * * * * *

  Findlay clenched his fists. Now angrier than ever, he wanted his revenge and he knew just how to counterattack. He bellowed into the microphone on the table. “Jonas! Jonas! Are you there?”

  The live broadcast feed had stopped, but the cameras and microphones were still connected to the studio. The unflappable Jonas Brown came over the wires. “Mr. Findlay, are you okay?”

  Findlay adjusted his ear piece to hear the anchorman better. “Oh, I’m fine. And I still have news for you today. Will you cover it?”

  “Well, Mr. Findlay…” Jonas cleared his throat. “Based on what I’m seeing and hearing, do you think that would be a good idea?”

  “I don’t know. Do you think a grad student hiding a stolen time
machine in their apartment is a good idea?”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “I saw it, Jonas.” Findlay held the microphone close to his mouth. “A time machine. It exists, and they have it. I think that’s a helluva story.”

  Brown paused. “I’m listening.”

  “Think about it. I was called in to analyze a device that Barry Helm and his nutjob crew of pseudo paleontology students stole from central Florida mine number 31. They found a time machine, Jonas, and I can prove it!”

  Findlay held his cell phone up to the stationery TV camera at the front of the stage.

  “I took pictures of it!”

  Findlay continued waving his cell phone at the camera, working hard to get the interest in the story reignited. Jonas Brown, for his part, appeared ready to dump the whole thing and call it a day.

  “Jonas, when Barry asked me to come see his discovery from the mine, I took pictures. Later, when I verified my data with Dr. Anderson, we agreed on what Barry had found.”

  “And you’re saying that is…”

  “It’s a time machine. A bona fide, true to life, machine built to bridge time. That’s what our major scientific breakthrough announcement was supposed to be today, not the acceptance of another big grant. We had to dupe you guys a little bit, but now you get to do the really big story.”

  “That’s pretty incredible, Mr. Findlay.” Frowning, he folded his arms over his chest.

  “That’s right, it sure is.” Findlay maneuvered his way around the stage to get close to Dr. Anderson. “And I can show it to you.”

  “Dr. Anderson, is this true?”

  Findlay’s hook was baited. Anderson’s jaw flapped in the wind as the blood drained from his face. “Well, actually, Jonas, I, uh…”

  Findlay leaned in close. “C’mon, Herb! Don’t be a pussy! It’s too late for that now.”

  The crowd hushed. The loudspeakers were still on. Everyone looked at Dr. Anderson. Had he seen the time machine?

  Anderson cleared his throat.

  “Well, Jonas…”

  The distant hum of a lawn mower was the only sound on the commons.

  “Yes.” Dr. Anderson sat up straight and adjusted his tie. “Yes, I did meet with Mr. Findlay here, and together we verified the data he presented.”

  Anderson puffed out his chest and took the microphone away from Findlay, walking around the stage and gesturing grandly. “And it is a time machine! We have acquired a working time machine. Our numbers bear it out.”

  The crowd went wild.

  “That’s… incredible!” Jonas’ eyes widened.

  Findlay beamed. “It’s incredible, all right.”

  “Quiet, Mr. Findlay.” Dr. Anderson covered the mic. “This isn’t just your big moment anymore. You got me into this mess, so I’m gonna cash in, too.” He lowered his voice. “We’re all gonna cash in.” A phony grin stretched across Anderson’s face. “There will be a lot of big time corporate interest in this now. So smile and wave, Findlay. Smile and wave. You little shit.”

  Findlay smiled and waved.

  Jonas Brown smiled, too. “Let’s get our news crew over there for the big reveal, fellas.”

  “You got it, Jonas.” Dr. Anderson smiled, waving at the crowd.

  “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” Jonas stood and unclipped his mic from his suitcoat, holding it to his face. “Have some coffee and donuts ready, okay?”

  Anderson’s head pumped up and down. “Okay, Jonas.”

  The screen went dark. The crowd roared at the news. In thirty minutes, Chris Findlay, Dr. Anderson, and Jonas Brown would put USF on the map by showing the world a time machine hidden in Barry’s apartment.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Findlay turned to the nearest producer, a tall black woman. “So, we have thirty minutes, then?”

  “Oh, no, honey.” She coiled up the microphone cable. “We need to move now. It takes time to set up a news feed from a remote. How far away is this apartment we’re going to?”

  “Like a mile or so.”

  “Yeah, we need to get rolling asap, sugar. Give me the address.” She turned to her crew and shouted. “Pack up, everybody! I want two cameras for a live shot at the new location! We’re on again in thirty!”

  Findlay stood, still wet from the water bombs. “Do I have time to get cleaned up?”

  She looked him over, frowning. “I don’t think it’s gonna do much. You pasty white boys tend to wash out under the camera lights.”

  * * * * *

  Across campus, my escape had slowed from a run to a jog. I hadn’t seen anybody following me. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t be on me soon, though.

  I finally allowed myself to walk. I was gassed. What a morning.

  There was no way I could wait until I got all the way to the Pancake House. It was easily another thirty minute hike, maybe more. I had to find out what had happened. And I needed to pee. The local news would probably soon be replaying whatever they’d videoed at the commons, so the internet might have it now. I glanced around to see where I could take refuge.

  I had almost made it to Chick-Fil-A.

  After entering the restaurant, I used the restroom, ordered a soda, and sat. They had a big TV on in the lobby, replaying the melee on campus. Then they went back to a live feed.

  “We are now just moments away,” the announcer said. “Channel 8 news crews are arriving at the apartment where USF computer science graduate student Chris Findlay has witnessed a working time machine hidden in his friend’s apartment.”

  What! Findlay was taking them to Barry’s!

  The loud buzz of an engine came over the roof. A news helicopter soared by. Onscreen, the TV announcer continued. “Findlay claims the machine was stolen from a central Florida mine and stashed in the apartment of two USF graduate paleontology students, who are also mentioned by authorities as being ‘persons of interest’ in the theft. We are coming to you live from near the USF campus, where the time machine will be revealed to us—and to all of you—next. Stay tuned.”

  They went to commercial, but they did a split screen to show the live shot from the news helicopter as it showed a parade of cars descending on Barry’s apartment complex. They would be at his door in no time.

  * * * * *

  As the helicopter circled overhead, swarms of students cascaded into the apartment complex, not knowing which building or apartment was Barry’s.

  For that, they needed Findlay. He had shrewdly withheld Barry’s apartment number. He wasn’t about to get dealt out again.

  The producer walked up to him and put a hand on her hip. “Any chance you’re gonna tell us which door, sugar?”

  “No way.” Findlay folded his arms over his chest.

  “I wouldn’t either.” She winked at him. “Okay then, you’re on in a sec.” She motioned to the cameras. “Camera one, be ready to go in close and get any action. Camera two, stay on your tripod and get set shots and wide views.” As they nodded, she sipped a coffee. “Okay. Light it up.”

  A bright set of camera lights beamed into Findlay’s pasty white face. He squinted.

  “Findlay, you’re on in thirty seconds,” the producer said. “Be ready. I will count you down from five. Watch for my hand.” She waved. “Over here.”

  He blinked, wiping his hands on his shirt.

  She grinned at him. “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.”

  The impeccably dressed Jonas Brown popped out of a nearby van. He marched to Findlay, scowling. “This is supposed to be my shot, kid.”

  Findlay gulped.

  “On in ten, Jonas.”

  “Okay.” Jonas straightened his jacket and turned toward the camera, then glanced at Findlay. “Don’t fuck this up.”

  “Five . . . four . . . three . . . ”

  The producer’s hand wagged two fingers, then one, then she pointed at Jonas Brown and Findlay. They were now live, beaming out to millions of viewers.

  * * * * *

  I watched
it all unfold from Chick-Fil-A. The ghost-faced Findlay looked like he was going to shit his pants. Then the perfectly coiffed anchorman began to speak.

  “Jonas Brown, here, coming to you live from the campus of the University of South Florida, where a fantastic discovery has been made.” The shot widened to include Findlay. “With us this morning is Chris Findlay, a student in computer science here at USF.” Jonas put the microphone in front of Findlay’s mouth “Mr. Findlay, what can you tell us about what we’re going to see this morning?”

  Findlay froze. The bright lights and all the excitement seemed to have finally gotten to him. He slowly opened his mouth.

  Nothing came out.

  * * * * *

  “Mr. Findlay?” Jonas Brown prompted.

  The stage director caught Findlay’s eye. He managed to look at her. She nodded and mouthed some words. You’re okay. Breathe.

  He breathed.

  She smiled. Go on, she mouthed.

  Findlay’s thoughts started returning to him. “Jonas,” he said. “Jonas Brown.”

  He flipped the switch and lit up. “Jonas Brown!” Findlay took a deep breath. “Whew! Buddy, just wait ‘til you see what I have for you behind door number one!”

  He was back. Findlay had recovered and was now on his game, embracing what would be his big moment. “As incredible as it may seem to your viewers, I witnessed a time machine–an actual, working time travel device–right here in this apartment behind us. It was recovered from a central Florida mine, and stolen from the University. And it’s just up those stairs.”

  “You say it was stolen, Mr. Findlay?”

  “That’s right. Paleontology student Barry Helm stole the property off the USF campus after delivering it to Dean Anderson in the paleontology lab.” Findlay grinned at the camera. “The thieves asked me to help identify what it was, but of course I had no idea it was stolen. And then, once they knew what they had, they removed the device from the campus and hid it here in this apartment.”

  “They stole it?” Jonas’ baritone voice dramatized the moment. “That’s quite a charge.”

  “They did. They stole it. I have the documents right here, all signed by Dr. Anderson, the Dean of Paleontology.” He held a log sheet up to the camera. “These papers say that Barry Helm and the other suspects checked the machine into the USF paleontology lab.”