Box Set - The Time Magnet Series

by Russell Moran

  “Ollie,” said Buster, “may I suggest you call these folks by their first names?”

  “Good idea, Buster. Sometimes I sound a little too Fed. Okay, Jack, Wally, Janice, and Ben...I mean Seamus, it’s time to pick up your briefing books and do some studying back at your hotel. Tomorrow after the gun range you’ll be taken to the medical department for your inoculations. After that we’ll have another meeting here. Today’s Wednesday. You leave on Friday. You’ll know your flight times by tomorrow’s meeting. Study hard my friends.”

  Chapter 23

  We all agreed to meet for supper at 6:30 after we hit the gym at the Marriott. Wally and Ben (Seamus) aren’t fitness nuts like Janice and me, but they agreed to join me because they know our trip is going to be physically demanding. Bennie’s really out of shape so I coached him to take it slow in the beginning. He and Wally will be able to continue their newfound fitness routine when we get to the Hotel Al Saeed in Yemen.

  We got a table at the back of the dining room so we could talk in privacy.

  “I can’t believe I’m 45 years old,” said Bennie, “spent the morning at a firing range, then went to a gym, and I’m about to play Agent 007 in some fleabag country. And we’re going through all this shit so our friend Jack can leave us and head back to the past to save the world. Maybe I’m crazy, but I’m kind of enjoying this.”

  “Since my worthless turd of a husband disappeared,” said Janice, “my life had become a bore. I have enough engineering projects to keep me busy but it’s become a grinding routine. I agree with Ben, this is actually fun. It will really be fun if we find my mass-murdering hubby.”

  “I have to agree,” said Wally. “I love my job at the Times and I get to write about fascinating stuff, but this is like nothing I ever imagined. A reporter lives on curiosity, and my God we’ve got a lot to be curious about. I’ve been all over the world on assignments, like Jack, but now I feel like I’ve been written into a movie script. How do you feel, Jack?”

  “Well,” I said, “I agree with all of you about the excitement of it all. But I have something in the pit of my stomach that I don’t think you guys have. You’re all thinking, ‘we can do this,’ but I’m thinking, we’ve GOT to do this. Remember, I come at this whole thing from the weird prospective of a time traveler. I saw the last moment of my life on that video, and my wife’s last moment as well, not to mention a few thousand others. I need to change that. With the help of you guys I will change it. What the world will look like when I’m successful, I have no idea. But it can’t be as fucked up as it is now, can it?”

  Chapter 24

  My name is Lieutenant Commander Ralph Martin, weapons officer of the USS Carl Vinson. But don’t call me Ralph or Mr. Martin. Call me Fatah Zayyaf, my true name, my Muslim name, a name that gives praise to Allah.

  I guess I don’t sound like a typical American naval officer. I’m supposed to be a proud American patriot. I’m supposed to be a Roman Catholic. I’m supposed to be a simple American family man. I’m supposed to be a lot of things that I’m not. My wife Barbara knows nothing about me although we’ve been married for 10 years. She thinks that I’m the man I pretend to be, and that’s exactly how I’ve played it all these years. In high school and college I was a good student and active in sports, especially baseball. I was the pitcher for my school team in my senior year. Of course I dated girls and used them for my pleasure, which is the way of the infidel.

  Ever since my high school trip to Riyadh, my life has not just changed, it’s taken on a meaning that my infidel acquaintances will never know. The trip was sponsored by The Center for Open-Minded Youth and funded by the government of Saudi Arabia. In Riyadh, I met a man who not only changed my life, but a man who showed me the true meaning of life. Sheik Ayham Abboud is my spiritual light. He was my mentor as well as the guide to my four friends who made the trip with me. Sheik Abboud taught us that the journey of life need not be dependent on circumstances. He showed us that a true spiritual path ignores the day-to-day-crap that life throws at us. He also taught us that jihad in the name of Allah is the highest calling a man can hear.

  My four American brothers also heard the call and we all converted to Islam by the time our visit was over. The path of truth and righteousness was ours.

  In a few weeks my brothers and I will unleash hell on American targets. Some of the infidels will call it terrorism, some even murder. But what they don’t know is that our actions will be cleansed by Allah, sanctified in his name, and justified by his truth.

  Chapter 25

  On Friday the four of us arrived at Kennedy Airport. Wally and Ben were scheduled to fly to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia at 11 AM and make a connecting flight to Sanaa, Yemen. Janice and I were scheduled to fly to Doha, Qatar at 1 PM and to connect to Sanaa an hour after we landed. None of us knew how and where Buster was going – he has a flair for secrecy – but we were supposed to rendezvous with him at the Hotel Al Saeed in Yemen on Saturday. We were all booked on Delta Airlines flights, so we could ease into our third world journey in American comfort.

  While we awaited our flights, Ben, Wally, and myself took the opportunity to comment on Janice’s new makeover, courtesy of the CIA Clandestine Ops Unit.

  “How’d we wind up with such a homely teammate?” said Wally.

  “Are you the Janice Monahan who used to be good looking?” chimed in Bennie.

  “Hey, blond hair and makeup are overrated,” I said. “Nothing like a full body gown to stir the senses.”

  “Okay, wise-asses,” said Janice. “You’re looking at the me that my wonderful hubby wanted.”

  ***

  “I’m not believing this,” said Janice as the plane lifted off the runway. “Two weeks ago I was a simple engineer working on an HVAC system for a bank in New Jersey. Now here I am on a hunt for international terrorists.”

  I put my finger to my lips to let her know not to talk so loud. She nodded.

  “You’re a brave, patriotic woman, Janice. You didn’t have to get yourself involved in all of this.”

  She looked into my eyes and stroked my arm. Shit – I didn’t mean that as a come-on, just a simple compliment. I closed my eyes and thought about Ashley. I’m a monogamous guy, simple as that. Simple, but not always easy.

  “How could I not get involved in this, Jack? As Joe and I grew more distant, as his religious zeal started to color everything in our lives, my love for the guy turned to tolerance. Then my tolerance turned to contempt, and after what you guys have told me, I’m starting to feel serious hatred. It bothers me to say that, but the man betrayed me and the entire country. I felt like a mantel ornament in his life. I want to find him as much as you do Jack, maybe more.”

  Our need to speak softly forced us to move our heads close to each other because of the flight noise. After a slight turbulence, our foreheads touched. Where did she get that perfume?

  Okay, the Yankees are up in the bottom of the seventh. Breslow’s pitching for the Red Sox and the Yankees have Ellsbury at the plate. The count is two and two. I looked at my watch. Thirteen hours to go.

  I dozed off and was in a deep sleep when I felt a hand gently stroking my face.

  “Jack, I forgot to tell you something.”

  Great, now I suppose she wants to get a room as soon as we land.

  “Today’s my birthday. Thirty-seven, young enough to still admit it. How old are you, Jack?”

  “I’m 37 too, as of four months ago. Happy birthday, Janice. We’ll all have to celebrate when we get to the hotel in Yemen.”

  “I thought just you and I might have a quiet drink together.”

  “Janice, remember, we’re a team. Counting Wally, Ben, and Buster that’s five. We work, think, and talk together. Yeah, and we drink together too.”

  “Sorry I woke you,” Janice said. “I’m just having a hard time sleeping or reading. My mind just keeps racing.”

  “I understand,” I said. “I’m a bit on edge myself. But we should try to snooze. We have a lot to do wh
en we arrive.”

  I dozed off again for a half hour or so. Somebody was stroking my hand.

  “Thought of something else, Janice?”

  “I don’t want to make you feel sad or anything, but, well, tell me about Ashley.”

  “You won’t make me feel sad at all. Worried, maybe, but not sad. Remember, Ashley is very much alive, and I intend to keep it that way. So what can I tell you about Ashley that you haven’t already read in the newspapers and magazines? We met in the weirdest of circumstances. She was the Captain of the guided missile cruiser USS California and I was a junior officer on the ship. Actually she promoted me to commissioned officer. I was an enlisted man.”

  “You were an enlisted man, with all your academic degrees and experience?”

  “Long story. As you know, the ship slipped through a time portal or wormhole and wound up at the start of the Civil War. You know the rest. One of the biggest stories ever.”

  “But tell me about Ashley.”

  “Well, it’s a love story. We met constantly because I was the author of that book Living History – Stories of Time Travel Through the Ages. I was the only one on the ship who knew anything about time travel. After a while Ashley and I would meet just to be with each other. We were about the same age and something just clicked. By the time four months had gone by, four months of 1861 time that is, we had fallen in love. Ashley is an amazing woman. She’s a tough military leader, a visionary thinker, and the sweetest, most feminine woman I’ve ever known. So I ended my brief Navy career and we got married. I went back to journalism and she took command of a nuclear aircraft carrier, the next logical step before she becomes an admiral. I’ve only been gone a short time, but I miss her a lot. We’re not just married lovers, we’re good friends. Does that sound corny?”

  “No, it doesn’t Jack. You two had a wonderful thing. I’m jealous of the both of you.”

  “Janice, Ashley and I have a wonderful thing, present tense. It’s not over, not if I have anything to do with it. And don’t be jealous of our happiness. We can’t figure out fate any easier than we can figure out time. If I were writing a story, a remarkable woman like you would have married a wonderful guy and had a great life. You can still have a great life.”

  “Maybe, as long as I’m not involved with that prick. Let me ask you something, Jack. Didn’t you say that you were writing a book about the Gray Ship incident?”

  “Yes, it was about half way done when I slipped through the wormhole.”

  “When it’s published, I want a signed copy.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll write, ‘To Janice, my good friend and teammate.’”

  “I’d like that, Jack, I really would.”

  I thought she was going to kiss me. Instead, she gave me a gentle punch to my arm. She sat back and I noticed a tear run down her face. Janice is a good woman, and she deserves better than the creep she married. I can’t imagine how she lives with such a crushing disloyalty. Joe Monahan not only betrayed Janice, he betrayed his country. He was willing to commit murder, mass murder, for a twisted idea. If there is such a thing as evil, he personifies it. Janice is a survivor, a smart, gutsy survivor with a lot of character.

  I’m glad we had this talk, and I’m glad she brought the subject up. Janice and I could easily have a serious relationship. I think I convinced her that Ashley is the woman of my life.

  Chapter 26

  Janice and I landed in Doha, Qatar at noon local time. From the airport we could see the beautiful architecture of the city, not to mention the airport itself. Although not as skyscraper crazy as Dubai, UAE, Doha is a striking city.

  “Don’t get too used to the glistening buildings Janice,” I said. “Sanaa isn’t like this. It’s one of the oldest cities in the world, and Yemen isn’t modern like Qatar. Too bad your husband didn’t take a liking to this place.”

  “Making bad decisions is in his blood,” Janice said.

  We made our connecting flight to Sanaa, Yemen an hour later and landed at 2:20 PM. Buster had arranged for a car to pick us up, and we checked into the Hotel Al Saeed at 4 PM. My body screamed for exercise so I headed for the gym right after I checked into my room. Janice did the same, in the women’s gym of course. Because Janice and I were supposedly married, our one room was in my name. I bunked with Bennie.

  We arranged to meet Wally and Ben in the dining room at 6:30. Buster, our clandestine CIA team leader didn’t want to be seen with us. Our waiter, a classy guy who could easily fit in at the Four Seasons, handed us our menus and called our attention to the specials on photocopied sheets. The “specials” were instructions from Buster. The waiter gave us a wink, and took our drink orders. I’ve had a lot of doubts about the efficiency of the CIA, but they were starting to evaporate. We ordered our drinks, a beer for me, wine for Janice, Irish whiskey on the rocks for Bennie, and a martini for Wally.

  “I didn’t think Jews like to drink hard liquor, Bennie,” whispered Wally with a laugh.

  “The name’s Seamus, shithead,” said Ben.

  “Sorry Seamus Shithead,” said Wally.

  The four of us laughed hysterically, much more than we should have from a simple joke. The stress of travel and our thoughts about the mission ahead took their toll. We laughed until we cried.

  While we nursed our drinks, hors d’oeuvres were served, four different variations of lamb, cooked to perfection. Buster knows how to pick hotels.

  As we finished the hors d’oeuvres, a loud noise shattered the pleasant atmosphere. A dozen glasses and assorted dinnerware flew across the room directly in front of us, launched from an overturned table. A guy with his head and face covered by a scarf stood at the entrance, holding an AK-47 and screaming in Arabic. He cocked his gun, chambering the first round. I’m a writer, not a warrior. I froze, as did everybody else in the dining room.

  Well, not everyone. Janice, almost casually, slipped off her seat in one fluid motion and dropped to the floor on her right knee. She aimed her Glock with both hands and fired three shots, one to the man’s head and two to his torso. The dining room fell silent.

  The hotel manager came running into the room. He screamed in broken English, “Everything okay my friends. Ees a crazy man. We fire him from keetchen yesterday and he come here for to make revenge. Pleez relax. Drinks on house.”

  As he spoke the gunman’s body was dragged from the room and kitchen staff busied themselves cleaning up the glass and blood. I found it strangely comforting to see that the manager’s first response to the mayhem was to ensure good customer service.

  Sharif, our waiter/CIA operative came to our table and said, “Welcome to Yemen. Happens all the time. Great aim. Who shot that guy?”

  Bennie raised his hand immediately and said, “It was me.” Bennie had quickly surmised that a gun slinging woman was not a favored character in Yemen.

  “Everything’s okay, folks,” said Sharif. “Now please, let me take your main course orders.”

  “I’ll have what she’s having,” Wally said.

  We all laughed, if you can believe it.

  We picked at our main course. Having almost gotten killed and watching our lovely teammate calmly blow away the bad guy did nothing for our appetites. Exhausted from travel and the stress of the evening’s gunfire, we headed for our rooms, making sure to keep our firearms handy on our night tables.

  Chapter 27

  The next morning at 9 AM, a driver picked us up in a white Toyota SUV, the vehicle of choice throughout the Middle East because the Japanese are efficient at supplying spare parts. Our destination was a safe house about a half hour from the hotel, where we would meet with Team Leader Buster. It was a modest-sized nondescript house of cement block with a small garden in front. The driver pulled the SUV to the back of the house where we entered after he made sure we weren’t seen.

  “So I understand you got an official Yemeni welcome at dinner last night,” said Buster with a broad grin. “Nice shot Bennie, I mean Seamus.”

  “It was me,” sai
d Janice.

  “I figured it would be bad form to have people think a woman did the deed,” said Bennie.

  “Good move, Seamus,” said Buster. “You people are a lot better than I expected. Janice, if you ever get tired of designing air conditioners, I can promise you a bright career at the CIA.”

  “Buster,” I said, “I can’t believe there was no police investigation of the incident. None of us were interrogated by anyone.”

  “Welcome to Yemen, my friends. Sharif told me what happened after the shooting. It was a typical Yemeni police procedure. A cop shows up and interviews the hotel manager. The manager tells him the gunman was a disgruntled employee and was looking for some pay back. He then tells the cop that the gunman was shot by an Irish-Canadian guy, as he slips him a hundred bucks. Case closed. Another chapter in the annals of Yemeni justice.”

  “To change the conversation to a more peaceful subject, I think we have an important lead, or at least a source,” said Buster. “One of our operatives met an Australian guy named Trevor McMartin. He’s a bank examiner and has been on assignment in Yemen for over three years. He tracks down dirty money, the people who handle it, and where the money goes. His parents are from the Middle East and he looks Arabic, and speaks it fluently. Trevor McMartin goes by the name Salem Yousef. We’ve checked him out with our sources in Australia and he’s the real deal, solid as rock and a sharp investigator. He mainly looks for western money that finds its way here. He’s very good at his job, knows where to look and where not to look, and gets paid a load of dough. Our operative told him that he knows some Canadian journalists doing a story on western expats to Yemen, and maybe McMartin would like to meet them. We’ve arranged for all four of you to meet him at the Holiday Inn Mukalla here in Sanaa. Seamus, I want you to strap on your bullshit detector hat. This guy may be very helpful. Okay, you’re scheduled to meet him in an hour. We’ll get together again here tomorrow. Try not to shoot anybody, Janice.”