Box Set - The Time Magnet Series

by Russell Moran

  “My Dear Admiral Ashley – STOP – I’ve always felt that one’s position in life can be improved by knowing one’s exact latitude and longitude –STOP – Without it, one finds it difficult to return home – Well, my friend, I’ve found your way home – STOP – Suggest you make plans accordingly – STOP – Love, Nigel – STOP”

  My hands were shaking so much I handed the next telegram to Jack. He read it.

  “You’ve heard from Nigel, I’m sure – STOP – Leave the rest up to me – STOP – Just get here ASAP, Buster – STOP”

  Jack and I had nothing to say to each other, not with words, anyway. We hugged like a couple of teenagers, a couple of happy teenagers.

  I got up and placed a call to Admiral Kimmel. Jack had made sure the phone lines were hooked up as soon as we docked. The phone didn’t have a speaker, so Jack listened in with his ear next to the receiver.

  “Good evening, Admiral, Ashley Patterson here. Yes, of course, sir, I want to meet you and give you a complete debriefing of our exercise. Tomorrow morning will be fine. But I did have something else I wanted to speak to you about. To be blunt, sir, both Captain Thurber and I need some leave time back in the states. We’ve been working around the clock for longer than I can remember. We need a break.”

  “Of course, Ashley. I don’t want you to burn out as you 2016 folks say. There’s a flight leaving for San Francisco the day after tomorrow. I’ll make sure you’ll both be on it.”

  I hung up the phone and we hugged, staring into each other’s eyes, hardly believing how our lives had changed in the past few minutes.

  “I have one more call to make, honey.” I said as Jack stood behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist.

  “Hello Commander, this is Admiral Patterson. Please leave word that I’m not to be disturbed. I need to get some sleep. Oh, and Captain Thurber asks you to pass the same word for him.”

  I can imagine Commander Jackson smiling. Our “secret marriage” was the worst kept secret on the ship.

  “Now, where were we, captain?” I said, as Jack kissed me on the neck. I could feel his excitement. The knowledge that we would soon head home only heightened our senses. Jack picked me up in his arms and carried me to the foot of the bed. He untied the belt on my robe, and I did the same for his. We dropped our robes to the floor (I mean deck – I forgot that we were on an aircraft carrier).We stood there for a while, pressed against each other. Jack picked me up and gently rested me on the bed. We began a long wonderful night of lovemaking. He kissed my breasts and then moved down, kissing every inch of my body as he did. His lips arrived at their destination, and after a couple of minutes of Jack’s magic, he drove me over the edge, deeply over the edge. I grabbed for the corner of the pillow and put it in my mouth to muffle my screams. I wouldn’t want the guards to think the admiral was in trouble. Because I definitely was not in trouble.

  After a couple of hours, sleep embraced us.

  I’ve got the best chief of staff any admiral could ever hope for. And I get to take him home with me.

  Chapter 85

  We boarded a DC-3 in Honolulu for our trip to San Francisco at 8 AM on Friday, August 22, 1941. The flight would take 12 hours, without the benefit of in-flight movies or reclining chairs. It was the first leg of our trip home to 2016, I hoped.

  We arrived in San Francisco at 5:15 PM, California time. The next flight to New York was the following morning at 5:30 AM, which would bring us to Idlewild Airport at 5:30 PM, New York time, on Saturday, August 23.

  “I can’t say I’m not nervous, Jack. Assuming we’ll soon have the coordinates of the wormhole, how in hell are we going to get there? We can’t just steal a couple of F-18s and take off.”

  “Ashley, remember Buster’s telegram? He said, ‘Leave the rest up to me.’ This is a Buster operation. That’s all the detail we need to know.”

  A car waited to take us to the office of Bill Donovan, head of the soon-to-be-formed OSS, at the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Buster had alerted us to this meeting with another telegram before we left Hawaii. We were expected at 2 PM.

  A Marine guard escorted us into Donovan’s office. Buster, Donovan, and, oh my God, Secretary of War Henry Stimson, stood to greet us. Buster was grinning ear to ear, and that fact alone calmed the fluttering in my stomach.

  Stimson walked over and shook our hands, smiling all the time. Donovan followed suit. We took our seats around a conference table, with Stimson at the head.

  “I have to tell you folks that it’s great to see you again,” said Stimson, “although this meeting has me feeling a bit sad. I’m sad because soon I’ll never see you again. Soon you’ll embark on a journey to your home, to the year 2016.”

  I thought I’d pass out. Not only had Buster cleared the way, but he did so at the upper echelons of the government. Stimson was on our side. I wondered if Roosevelt had been notified.

  “Rather than give a speech,” said Stimson, “I would prefer to read a letter from President Roosevelt. It’s addressed to you folks, but was hand delivered to me.”

  To my good friends from the year 2016:

  I’m still not sure I can believe that you’ve come to us over the skies of time, but all evidence points that way. The three of you are about to embark on a wonderful journey, a journey home. The impact that you have made on our wonderful country is immeasurable. My good friend Nigel Blake has told me about some amazing technological advances his company has made, thanks to you. Also, because of you, Admiral Patterson, I have ordered the integration of our armed forces, a policy change that was long overdue.

  I have directed Secretary Stimson to smooth the way for you. Thanks to Commander Buster, all of the details have been taken care of.

  I thank you, and Eleanor thanks you, for your courage and patriotism, and for leaving America a better place. May you continue to do your good work from the land you call home. I salute you and wish you Godspeed on your journey. Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

  I was glad I was sitting down; otherwise I would have collapsed. Buster, and in no small way, Nigel Blake, had cleared the way for our trip to 2016. We shook hands with Secretary Stimson and General Donovan and left the office. Buster told us that we were expected at Nigel Blake’s house that evening. A Rolls Royce limousine awaited us.

  Chapter 86

  As our car took us to Nigel’s house, Buster filled us in on the details of our upcoming trip.

  “Buster, I’m worried about something, really worried. Our F-18s have been here for 10 months, without any kind of maintenance that I’m aware of. Hell, they haven’t been flown in 10 months.”

  Buster shot me a bemused look, as if to say, “don’t you know me by now?”

  “I’ve checked the planes twice a week, and personally flew each of them every month. Did you think your favorite spook left his brain in 2016?”

  “Where will we meet you?” I asked Buster.

  “I’ve already moved my plane to Floyd Bennett. We’ll take off together.”

  Jack and I just laughed. Buster, the human action figure, had done it again.

  ***

  During the seemingly endless drive along the Blake mansion driveway, we all took in the beautiful landscaping, erupting in all of its late summer glory. It was 5 PM as we got out of the car, and the August breeze carried a hint of autumn.

  Angus, Nigel’s charming Scottish butler greeted us at the door of the mansion, along with Carnegie and Rockefeller wagging their golden tails, almost delirious with the joy of seeing us.

  Angus, Carnegie, and Rockefeller led us into the enormous den. We were greeted with a standing ovation by Nigel, Ike and Margie Tanner, and Sylvia Tanner. Oh my God, I thought. This is going to be an emotional goodbye.

  Nigel almost exploded with his enthusiastic greeting.

  “Come in, my loveys, and please grace my house with your presence!”

  I hoped Jack was making a mental note of some of Nigel’s lines. They belong in a book.

  Angus circulated among us with a tray
of champagne glasses.

  Nigel led us in a toast.

  “To our wonderful friends from the 21st Century. Thank you for sharing yourselves with us, if only for a short time.”

  I enjoy the taste of bubbly every now and then, but this champagne was the most delicious liquid that ever touched my tongue.

  Nigel saw the look on my face, winked and said, “Château Lafite Rothschild, 1929. It’s never been surpassed, and as a time traveler I know.”

  A pretty Japanese woman walked into the room.

  “My friends, allow me to introduce the love of my life, a woman who was away the last time you were here, my wife Yoroki Blake.”

  Yoroki walked up to each of us, politely bowed and said a few words of welcome. When she approached me, we spoke for a few minutes in Japanese. Everyone stared.

  “Long story,” I said.

  “Before we continue our festivities, I shall now present a parting gift to our friends.”

  Angus walked into the room with a silver tray, on which were placed three envelopes. As I opened mine, I realized it must have weighed a couple of pounds.

  There, printed on solid gold plates, was the inscription I had longed to see:

  The Wormhole - The Way to Go Home

  39° 45’ 19” North 73° 58’ 23” West

  Sylvia slapped Jack on the shoulder and said, “Such a pretty set of numbers, eh, handsome?”

  “Yes, Sylvia, quite pretty.”

  “My friends,” boomed Nigel. “I would like to propose a special toast to the greatest mathematical mind in the world, Sylvia Tanner.”

  We all raised our glasses and turned toward Sylvia.

  “If it weren’t for Sylvia and her team of physicists,” Nigel continued, “our technology would be decades behind. She created the world’s first digital computer, not to mention the transistor. And in so doing she enabled us to unlock the mysteries of the Black Box, and to send our friends home.”

  “And I put a few shekels into the treasury of Blake Industries,” said Sylvia with a wink at Nigel.

  The evening was wonderful, if somewhat bittersweet. Buster, Jack and I would soon leave behind our friends – forever. But I decided to make the most of the party and ignore my sadness.

  At Margie’s insistence, Jack played the piano, adding Chopin to his Gershwin. This is one aspect of this side of the wormhole I’m going to miss, I thought. Who knows, maybe Jack will bring his new found talent with him. And when I retire, maybe I can teach Japanese.

  We agreed to go to Floyd Bennett Field the next day at 9 AM, and planned to take off after preflight checking at 10 AM.

  Nigel invited everyone to stay at his house that night. With 45 rooms, there was enough space for us.

  As the evening wore down, we all agreed that we would enjoy a farewell breakfast in the morning, courtesy of Nigel Blake.

  Jack, Buster, and I grabbed our bags, our small bags, and went to our rooms. Time travelers pack light.

  Chapter 87

  Sunday, August 24, 1941 was our departure date. Nigel’s limousine took the three of us to Floyd Bennett Field. After going through our pre-flight checklists, we were ready for the trip we’d been looking forward to for 10 months.

  I took off first and Buster flew close behind. When we leveled off Buster flew parallel to our course. I aimed the plane toward the coordinates of the wormhole. By agreement, we would turn around to land at LaGuardia after we made it through the portal. Actually, it was on my direct order, but I prefer to be polite with my friend Buster.

  After 40 minutes of flight time, we approached the wormhole. If I said I wasn’t nervous, I’d be lying. The three of us are charter members of the unique group called time travelers, but none of us really understands it. Buster positioned his plane directly behind ours.

  Jack counted down, with Buster and me listening through our headsets.

  “Thirty seconds, twenty seconds, ten, five...”

  We felt a rumbling and suddenly the sky was pitch black. Then came the wait, the seemingly interminable wait. In 15 seconds, the darkness returned to bright morning sunlight. Oh dear God, I thought. We made it.

  As prearranged we turned and set our course for LaGuardia. The coast of New Jersey was on our left.

  “Hey, guys, take a look at those trees,” I said. “It’s autumn, beautiful autumn.”

  The trees looked like they did 10 months ago on October 20. Moments ago it was August 24, 1941, and the trees were the bright green of summer. We’d soon find out how long we’d been gone in 2016 time, but the color of the trees gave us hope that it hadn’t been long.

  “Hey, Buster,” I said. “When we land at LaGuardia, maybe we can find a piano so Jack can give us a few tunes.”

  “I can’t think of a better way to start a press conference, Ashley.”

  “Hey, Ashley,” said Jack. “Say something in Japanese.”

  “Sushi.”

  As we approached LaGuardia I called on the radio, “LaGuardia Tower, LaGuardia Tower, this is United States Navy Flight 2657, request permission to land.”

  “Holy shit!” said the air traffic controller.

  “Is he supposed to say that?” Jack asked.

  “I don’t think so, hon.”

  A different voice came on the radio.

  “This is General Dominic Mumford, United States Air Force. To whom am I speaking?”

  “Hey, Dom, It’s Ashley. How ya doin?”

  “Holy shit!” we heard him yell.

  “Maybe that’s some new kind of air traffic protocol,” said Jack.

  Dom Mumford is a good guy and a good friend. His voice sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

  “Dom, at the risk of repeating myself, I request permission to land.”

  “Oh, yeah, of course, I mean holy shit.”

  “You said that already, Dom. And by the way, I have two planes in my flight, both F-18s.”

  “We have you on radar about 20 minutes out,” said Mumford.

  “Ashley, where the hell have you been?”

  “Sir,” we heard the traffic controller say, “we have other planes on this frequency. Please keep conversation to a minimum.”

  “Fuck ‘em,” we heard Dominic say. Obviously, Dom had a difficult day. I looked over at Buster, who was in obvious hysterics.

  “I’m sorry, pal, it’s been a long day,” Mumford said to the controller. “Please switch us to a secure channel.” He gave us the channel number and we switched so we could talk freely before landing.

  “So as I said, Ashley, where the hell have you been?”

  “Buy me a beer and I’ll tell you. Hey, Dom, we have a couple of immediate questions for you. What is the date and time?”

  “It’s 5:30 PM on October 20.”

  “We’ve only been gone for eight hours?” I said. Actually I screamed it.

  ***

  As we approached our runway at LaGuardia, Buster shouted, “Look to the left.”

  The Empire State Building, in all her late afternoon glory, stood there, looking more beautiful than ever.

  Chapter 88

  As we taxied to our hangar, we could see reporters and sound trucks in brigade strength.

  Buster, Jack, and I had agreed that we would adopt a simple strategy for the upcoming press conference. I had parked my admiral status for the purpose of our discussion. This had nothing to do with military rank. This was about three people who went through an amazing experience, so our strategy wasn’t complicated. We would tell the truth, the simple unvarnished truth. If people want to freak out about our having spent 10 months in the 1940s let them. If they think it’s unbelievable, fine. We’ll just tell the truth and let them sort it out.

  Our old friend, Dom Mumford met us at the terminal. He had arranged for a phalanx of guards to assist us through the crowd. As Dom greeted us at the door, the three of us all blurted out one question: “What happened at Pearl Harbor?”

  “What?” Dom asked, looking understandably confused.

  �
�You heard us, Dom. You’ll know why we asked that question shortly, but let me ask you again, what happened at Pearl Harbor in 1941?”

  He shook his head as if to rattle some meaning out of the question he just heard.

  “Well, as we all learned in history class, the Japanese planned an attack on Pearl Harbor, but were intercepted by a fleet of American carriers. The Japanese fleet was decimated, and Japan surrendered a couple of months later. Why the hell are you asking me this question?”

  “You’ll find out in a couple of minutes, Dom.”

  “Another question, Dom. How is the Capitol Building?”

  “What? What do you mean? I guess it’s fine if you exclude the bullshit that goes on there every day.”

  “Do you remember anything happening to the building in the 1940s, like a plane crashing into it?”

  “No, I’m sure I’d remember that from the history books.”

  We sat down at a table with a TV-ready graphic of the Manhattan skyline behind us. The three of us had agreed that I would go first, and that I’d read from a prepared statement.

  I then told our 10-month STORY, the story of October, 1940 to August, 1941.

  Then came the questions. And we gave our answers. The thing I like about fellow time travelers is that they don’t keep asking the same questions over and over again. But these people weren’t fellow time travelers, so they kept repeating their questions.

  “So that’s it, folks. Commander Atkins, my husband Jack, and I have spent 10 months from October, 1940 to August, 1941, but we’ve been away from here only eight hours. If you can figure that out, please let us know, because we sure can’t.”

  Then came the requests from executive producers. We could easily spend the rest of our lives rotating from CBS, NBC, ABC, Fox News, CNN, well, you get the idea. We were BIG NEWS.

  Chapter 89

  The three of us were hungry. Hey, we hadn’t eaten in 75 years. Okay, enough stupid time travel jokes.