“But you must play some kind of instrument or studied music quietly without letting anybody know,” I said.
“The only instrument I ever picked up was a harmonica my folks gave me one Christmas when I was about 10 years old. The dog bit it in half that same day, and I never picked up a musical instrument again. Tonight was the first time.”
“Jack, where the hell are we?”
“Not any universe that I’m familiar with.”
Chapter 35
Jack and I had just finished our early morning run and walked along the sidewalk to our house. We met Shiri, the Tanners’ maid, on her way to the Commandant’s house.
Her face lit up with excitement as we approached her.
“Last night was a beautiful evening of music,” said Shiri. “I never heard a better pianist.”
She seemed to want to talk, and because we were in no hurry, we stood and enjoyed her company. Shiri told us that she had started taking college courses, and hoped to become a writer like Jack. She reached into her purse and withdrew a small book.
“I’m embarrassed to give your husband a gift, so this is for you. Please share it with Lieutenant Thurber.” She nodded to Jack.
I looked at the book. It was a collection of short stories written by Shiri, and published by a local college press. I began to read the first story out loud. It was only two pages long, so I read the entire thing. It was a lovely, touching short tale about autumn in Brooklyn.
Shiri bowed, and said that she had to get to work.
As we walked through the door I said, “What a sweet kid. But you were awfully quiet, Jack.”
“Ashley, how long do you figure that conversation took, including your reading?”
“Oh, about 10, maybe 15 minutes. Why?”
“Do you realize that you and Shiri spoke straight Japanese? When did you learn the language?”
I felt like I was going to faint.
“I’ve never spoken a word of Japanese in my life. My great grandfather was Japanese, but the language never passed through the family. The only Japanese I’ve ever spoken was ‘extra wasabi please.’ ”
“Well, you sounded like it was your native tongue.”
“So, you’re a concert pianist and I speak fluent Japanese. What the hell kind of wormhole did we pass through?”
Chapter 36
Jack and I met Ike, Margie, and Sylvia in front of the Tanner home the next day at 9 AM. A large Chrysler, Ike's regular vehicle, pulled up. Petty Officer Jimmy O'Keefe was our driver. It was a pleasant October 26 morning with a temperature of 55 degrees, a relief from the recent cold snap. Excellent weather to meet a fellow time traveler, I thought for no reason.
We drove to the quaint village of Cold Spring Harbor on Long Island's north shore, home of the world famous Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory. The lab was originally known as the Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Science until it moved to suburban Long Island. As much as I was growing to like Brooklyn, it can’t beat the beauty of Cold Spring Harbor. Our car took us down a winding road that was shaded by a canopy of giant elm trees. O'Keefe then pulled into the longest driveway I had ever seen. The drive was lined with sycamore trees and stands of hydrangeas, still in bloom because of the proximity to the water. After a few minutes we arrived at the entrance to a Gatsby-type mansion overlooking Cold Spring Harbor. A polished brass sign in front of the mansion read, “Harbor Lights.”
“This place is even nicer than the Commandant's house at the Navy Yard, Ike,” I said.
“Whatever Nigel does, people pay him a lot of money to do it,” said Sylvia.
A butler, decked out in a real butler's outfit, long tails and all, greeted us at the entrance. He introduced himself as Angus. The door itself was 12 feet high, made of solid mahogany. We walked into the entrance hallway, a space the size of many a ballroom I've seen. Two large Golden Retrievers charged at us, tails wagging and greeting us as old friends the way Goldens always do. A Golden Retriever is the natural enemy of a blue uniform, but I love dogs so I played with them anyway.
“What are their names?” I asked.
“Carnegie and Rockefeller, madam,” said the Angus the butler, with a charming Scottish accent.
Without missing a beat, Angus handed each of us a brush so we could remove Carnegie and Rockefeller's fur remnants.
Angus then led us into a den the size of Yankee Stadium. Well, maybe not that big, but close. Along one wall hung six Rembrandts, originals I'm sure. A large skylight, maybe 40 by 60 feet, bathed the room in a friendly sunny glow. Carnegie and Rockefeller came bounding in, tails wagging, obviously wanting to be part of the meeting. Angus shooed them to another room.
Built into the walls were alcoves containing odd-looking devices and mechanical instruments the uses of which eluded me. I tapped Jack on the arm and pointed to one of the alcoves. The machine looked like a personal computer. Jack and I just stared at each other.
Angus led us to a sitting area by a table that was already set with coffee, snacks, and fresh cut chrysanthemums.
“Mr. Blake will be with you shortly,” said Angus.
Our amazing journey was about to take a new turn.
Chapter 37
A tall thin man stood at the entrance to the den, wearing a Savile Row suit that probably cost more money than all of the clothes I've ever owned. A shock of graying blond hair, parted down the middle, bounced as he moved. His pale green eyes almost twinkled. They weren’t as gorgeous as Jack’s but almost as expressive.
The man didn't so much walk into the room, he exploded into it.
Blake spread out his arms and in a loud but friendly voice with a decidedly British accent said, “Welcome to Harbor Lights, my friends.”
He walked to our sitting area with hands clasped together and held against his chest as if to signal that he couldn't be happier to see us.
“Margie, my favorite historian,” said Blake as he kissed Margie on the cheek. “You look lovely as always.”
“And Admiral Ike, so good to see you again. Lovely work on my USS North Carolina.”
“Your USS North Carolina?” said Ike with a chuckle.
“Of course,” said Blake, “I was the majority investor.”
“And Sylvia, my love,” said Blake as he held both of her hands. “Margie told me you left that Nazi trash behind you. Welcome back to civilization, my dear, and thank you for bringing your scientific genius back to the States.”
“And you must be Ashley Patterson. I must say that you're the most ravishing admiral I have ever met.” With that he bowed and kissed my hand.
This was cool, I thought. I hoped Jack was taking notes.
“And, of course, the famous writer Jack Thurber. I loved your book, Living History – Stories of Time Travel through the Ages. I almost committed it to memory I read it so many times.”
“But, Mr. Blake,” said Jack, “Living History was published in 2010, 70 years from now. How could you have read it?”
Blake roared in laughter.
“Time travel, my good fellow, is the subject of our meeting today. I read your book on a journey to the year 2014. You did a wonderful job of working with the scholarship of the lovely Margie. As I recall, you mentioned me on pages 314, 378, 519, and 613. You are an outstanding writer. And you are also a fine judge of feminine beauty. Congratulations on your marriage to this lovely creature. 2013 if I recall. But you two do have a procrastination difficulty. You met in 1861. That had to be the longest courtship in world history.”
He roared again with laughter, as we sat in amazement.
“Mr. Blake, you seem to know a lot about us,” I said. “I find this incredible.”
“The name is Nigel, my loveys. One of the fun things I learned in the 21st Century is that people call each other by first names. So please let us all do the same.”
“Enough of my craziness,” Nigel continued, “although if you read the press I never seem to stop being crazy. Let me tell you a bit about myself. Yes, I'm a time traveler, one of the
reasons people think I'm insane. But something tells me that Ashley and Jack don't find me insane. Well, maybe they do, but not because I claim to be a time traveler. They are my colleagues in this amazing phenomenon.”
“I think I speak for both myself and Ashley,” said Jack, “when I say that I don't find you insane at all, no crazier than us.”
“So if you traveled to 2014,” said Jack, “then you must know a lot about the Gray Ship incident.”
“Of course, the Gray Ship incident!” said Nigel with a clap of his hands. “The World Cup of time travel. I studied every word of the Naval Board of Inquiry from 2013. As you folks may know, lovely Admiral Patterson, when she was a captain, was the commanding officer of a guided missile cruiser that slipped through a wormhole and found itself, along with Ashley and Jack and about 600 others, at the beginning of the Civil War. As I mentioned before, Ashley and Jack met in 1861. The ship, the USS California, fought in the war and changed history. But you won't find any mention of it in our history books in 1940. Time travel is a strange phenomenon. But, having visited the year 2014, I can tell you from my reading of history that the Gray Ship incident did occur.”
“So, having visited 2014 and returned that same year,” I said, “you don't know anything about what we call The Thanksgiving Attacks of 2015, or of a group of people known as The Thanksgiving Gang?”
“No, I don't,” said Nigel. “But Margie told me all about your current situation.”
“What about Pearl Harbor?” I said. Jack and I have been telling everyone that the Japanese will attack our naval base at Pearl Harbor in December of next year.”
“And I have been sounding the alarm as well, my friends. But people have learned not to listen to me.”
“Nigel,” I said, “Jack and I are on a mission, a two-part mission. The first part, as loyal Americans, is to sound the alarm about the upcoming war. The second part is to find our way home.”
“And,” Nigel continued, “because you can't find fuel for your modern aircraft or a way to read the Flight Data Recorder,” said Nigel, “you don't know how to get back to the wormhole, a wormhole in the sky. Would you say that about sums up the second part of your mission?”
“Perfectly,” I said.
“I can help,” said Nigel. “It will be a challenge, but I can help. Can we enlist the aid of my mathematically gifted friend Sylvia?”
He looked at Sylvia.
“How can I turn down a mensch like you?”
Chapter 38
My name is Herman Goering. I'm the Commander in Chief of the Luftwaffe, the glorious German Air Force. The Fuehrer called me to his office this morning. Seldom have I seen Hitler so excited. Kurt Schweitzer, our chief intelligence officer in America, has just reported a curious incident in New York. He told the Fuehrer that a strange airplane, which he believes to be a jet aircraft, landed at LaGuardia Airport a few days ago. His brilliant network of spies has reported the details of the plane and snapped hundreds of photographs, one of which I'm looking at now. It's like nothing I've ever seen before. Its sleek lines tell me that this plane is meant to fly at great speeds. Although it carried no armaments under its wings, the photo seems to indicate that the plane can hold a large number of bombs.
The Fuehrer wants me to learn everything there is to know about the aircraft. It's clear that he wants to build one like it. As he returned my salute he said, “Goering, I want to know everything about this aircraft – everything.”
As the founder of the Gestapo, I know something about spying. The Fuehrer will not be disappointed.
Chapter 39
I ran to pick up the phone. At least the damn thing was good for exercise.
“Ashley, it’s Ike Tanner. For security reasons, I don't want to talk on the phone. Would you please meet me in my office? Bring Jack.”
I told Ike we'd be there in five minutes. Although our 2016 driver's licenses would probably get us arrested if we drove around the city, driving on the base was no problem. We jumped into the car that Ike had put at our disposal and drove to the commandant's headquarters.
Jack and I walked through the front door of the building. We both noticed that there was no metal detector or other security devices in the entrance hall, just a lone Marine corporal on duty. He waved us on, not even asking to see our IDs. Ike’s office was on the second floor. It wasn't as classy as his house, but it was large and well appointed. The furniture was leather and wood, and a large window gave him a view of the docks. The three of us sat at a modest sized conference table, and Ike ordered coffee.
“This comes directly from the White House, Ashley. We've got to move the plane. They're concerned about security at LaGuardia and I don't blame them. The Naval Air Station at Floyd Bennett Field is right next to the Navy Yard. I've discussed it with Admiral Bill McLaughlin, the Air Station Commander. When can you be ready to take off?”
I had one thought on my mind: the Flight Data Recorder, the Black Box.
“I hear it's supposed to rain today,” I lied, “but the forecast is good for tomorrow. How about 0800?”
“Washington says they want the operation as quiet as possible,” said Ike. “How about sunrise, say 0624 (6:24 AM)?”
“That's fine with me,” I said. “Can I bring my co-pilot?”
“I wouldn't want to separate you and Jack,” said Ike, “even though the flight won't be more than 10 minutes.”
“I haven't visited the plane in two days,” I said. “Jack and I will stop by today for my routine check. Can we have a driver to take us to LaGuardia?”
Ike nodded and picked up the phone. He said the car would pick us up at our house in one hour.
“Oh, one more thing,” said Ike. “President Roosevelt wants to meet you both. How about the day after tomorrow?”
“Of course,” I said, feeling as if I were going to faint. I thought about the time Jack and I met Abraham Lincoln. Time travelers get to meet a lot of interesting people.
***
“Quick thinking, honey,” said Jack as we got into our car to go back to the house. “We've got to get the Black Box while we can. Do you know where it's located?”
“Yes,” I said. “The box is in the tail assembly and it's easy to access. All I need is a Philips screwdriver and a pair of pliers.”
Our driver picked us up and drove to the hangar at LaGuardia that housed the F-18. The Marines guarding the plane knew us by now. They snapped to attention and saluted. Jack and I returned the salute.
“Just here for our routine check, fellas. Anything to report?”
“No, ma’am,” said one of the Marines.
Jack walked around the plane, poking at things and trying to look casual. Then he engaged the Marines in conversation while I walked to the tail section. I opened the compartment that held the Black Box, and easily detached it from its holding place. I often wondered why they call these things Black Boxes, when the color is bright orange. I also retrieved the other box, the Cockpit Voice Recorder. The boxes are about the size of a car battery, but not as heavy. I gently placed them into my satchel, and Jack, always the gentlemen, took it from me. We saluted the Marines and got back into the car.
“I don't believe what we just did,” whispered Jack.
“Believe it, hon,” I said, “believe and rejoice.”
Chapter 40
On Thursday, October 31, 1940, Jack and I sat in the Hornet while we went through the pre-flight checklist. It was Halloween, but I was in no mood for Trick or Treat. Jack read the items to me and I checked the dials and switches. At 6:24 AM we were ready for take-off, just in time for sunrise. The Naval Air Station Command had assigned us four fighter escorts for our short journey to Brooklyn. I engaged the throttle and we picked up speed as we rolled down the runway.
I imagined what the roar of an F-18 taking off must sound like to the people of 1940.
In a matter of seconds we were airborne. As a favor to Jack, not to mention our escort pilots, I decided against any aerial acrobatics. We just flew s
traight to Floyd Bennett Field.
After I landed the plane I followed the instructions of the ground crewman and taxied to the hangar that would be the new (perhaps final?) home of the F-18.
“Since I didn't turn your stomach inside-out this time,” I said, “how about breakfast?”
“I'll buy,” said Jack.
“We have to start thinking about our meeting with President Roosevelt tomorrow,” I said.
Chapter 41
On Friday, November 1, 1940, Jack and I flew into Washington-Hoover Airport in Arlington, Virginia. It would be years before Dulles and Reagan airports came into being. Our plane was a charming old Douglas DC-3. I thought it was charming, but Jack said it felt like flying in a truck. Maybe it wasn't up to 2016 standards, but the DC-3 was one of the most successful and longest serving airplanes ever produced. I read somewhere that they were still in use around the world in 2016.
“Ashley,” said Jack, “we've decided that part one of our mission is to sound the alarm about the war. We've done that with Admiral Ike and Margie, and with Nigel Blake. Now comes the main event. We're about to warn the President of the United States about America's upcoming involvement in the war. I don't think we can go much higher with our caution flags waving.”
“You're right, hon,” I said. “After we talk to Roosevelt, I think our usefulness in 1940 will have expired.”
We were whisked through the airport checkout and entered a waiting limousine outside the terminal. It was another beautiful fall day, perfect for a little sightseeing on our way to the White House. Our car drove through a much different Washington DC from the one we knew in 2016. The first thing we noticed is that the Pentagon didn't exist yet, not as a brick and mortar building anyway.
Box Set - The Time Magnet Series Page 63
