Fate (Wilton's Gold #3)

by Craig W. Turner

  Carr unzipped and went about his business. Dexter, who’d been standing there, started to put himself back together and head for the sink, but the general spoke, stopping him. “Murphy, I understand Dr. Jacobs is your friend and you have an allegiance to him,” he said, his eyes pinned on the wall in front of him. “I hope that you’ll be able to look past that and do what’s right.”

  “Are you insinuating that I’m not? Or I wouldn’t?”

  “He had to have told you something about where he was going.”

  “If he had, I would’ve stopped him.”

  Now the general turned his head. “Would you have? What about the mission to Russia? Did he mention that to you?”

  Dexter shook his head as he zipped up. Did he know something? “No, but it doesn’t matter. Whatever changes he made on that mission altered history, so the present he returned to was different from the one he’d left. Dr. Jacobs – this Dr. Jacobs, the one here with us today – told me that I took him to the airport for the Russia mission. Never happened. The other Dr. Jacobs must’ve known that the history before he returned was irrelevant, so he never said anything about it.”

  “It’s not irrelevant from a scientific standpoint.”

  “General, sir, did you come into the bathroom to talk to me about time travel science?” Dexter asked. They both headed over to the sink, which made him feel less like he was being interrogated. “Look, I agree with you. It’s not irrelevant. But we can’t tell him that because he’s gone.”

  Carr sighed. “Well, at least we fixed the security so that it will take two people to game the system. Instead of just one.”

  Dexter glanced at him in the mirror. “It’s never too hard to recruit one person,” he said.

  The general exchanged looks with him in the mirror for a moment, then smiled. “You believe all of this?” he asked.

  “Believe what?”

  “That Jeff Jacobs out there and the guy that ran a year-and-a-half ago are two different people with two different memories?”

  Dexter finished rinsing his hands and pulled them away from the sensor. The water stopped. He held his hands under the hand dryer for a moment while the general did the same on the machine next to his. When the noise subsided, he said, “Accepting the concept that time travel is actually happening, it’s not that far-fetched. I’m not saying it doesn’t screw with your mind, but it’s not beyond the realm of possibility.”

  “So he’s not putting on a show?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. He’s not that good of an actor. Believe me.”

  “Well, maybe Dr. Graham can pull something out of him.”

  Dr. Graham. The other wrinkle. “Should we get back out there?” he asked, ready to leave the bathroom now that his solitude had been compromised.

  Carr nodded and then slapped Dexter in a hard but fatherly manner on the back, then followed him out the door.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Jeff was pleased that, for the time being, the onus was going to be off of him, though it was transitioning to his friend. He was actually looking forward to hearing what had happened to Dexter’s previous runner. He knew they needed his expertise to find a solution – if there was a solution to be found – so this was an important first step toward getting his life back.

  He looked down the table at the woman who had approached him. He still hadn’t gotten her name, saving face by pretending that he knew who she was. He didn’t, actually. Had never seen her before in his life. But he immediately gathered that she was part of the Time Program team, which meant that the other Jeff would have worked with her. The conversation was short, so he didn’t really have the time to dig into anything with her. She’d been stand-offish anyway, strictly business. He thought she was simply being cordial, coming over to see him. He didn’t get the impression they were friends outside of the business of the USTP.

  Though they’d hurried the conversation, they would have had a little more time had they chosen to use it. The five minute break was extended as Dexter, the man of the hour, disappeared. If Jeff knew his friend, he was holed up in the bathroom prepping his comments to make sure he was saying all the right things. Dexter was so cautious about everything. Which was one of the key attributes that Jeff had appreciated when bringing him on the team, but at times he found it could be a bit much. Though, it was possible that Jeff had developed that sentiment because he was still harboring resentment against Dexter for not letting him do the Wilton job in the first place.

  In any case, he saw Dexter as in a “no lose” situation. Like him, he was the only one who had experienced the change in history. In truth, if he hadn’t come back and blabbed about everything he’d seen, they would have had no way of knowing any of it. As everyone waited, most of them back in their seats, he allowed his mind to wander, trying to trace his friend’s path into and through history. After a few moments, he was convinced he’d settled on some important concepts, including the fact that Kane’s work had negated the need to take the trip at all. In this reality, the USTP stiffs would never even have heard of Kane, much less be standing there waiting for Dexter to return with him. As Jeff saw it, Dexter could have just shown up for work the next morning like nothing had happened, and no one would have been the wiser.

  Which made him wonder what exactly he’d told them. There would be – should be – a lot of wiggle room for him.

  It also caused him to take note for his own future reference. There was wiggle room for him, as well. Possibly even enough to promote his own scientific theories.

  Finally, Dexter appeared in the doorway, followed by the general, uniformed and standing tall. The few who remained standing quickly took their seats while Dexter sat in front of the laptop at the end of the table and began scrolling through some internet pages. Jeff followed his navigation on the large screen on the wall behind him. Someone dimmed the lights.

  More formally than was probably necessary, Bremner re-introduced Dexter, setting the stage for his presentation. Dexter stood, the computer’s remote control in his hand, and stepped away from the screen so that everyone around the table could see it clearly.

  He brought up his first slide. It was a headshot of a man labeled “Benjamin Kane” and a bulleted list of information. “I thought it would be appropriate to give you some of the background on Benjamin Kane and his time travel request,” he said, pointing for no reason at the screen with laser pointer in his hand. “Kane was a third-generation industrialist, with his family in the milling business. They’ve milled and distributed flour through the Northeast United States since World War II, and shipped grain prior to that. Kane, himself, was married to his wife, Angela, for forty-one years, and they had two boys, Simon and Sylvester. Simon, the eldest, had left the family business behind to become a fairly successful screenwriter; Sylvester was in the process of taking over the company. Kane’s retirement was imminent.”

  Jeff watched him take a deep breath and look around the room. He wondered what was going through his mind. Everything seemed pretty straightforward. From Jeff’s chair, there wasn’t really much cause for Dexter to be anxious.

  He continued, “Benjamin Kane was sick. He’d been told he was dying of pancreatic cancer – he had an estimated six to twelve months to live. His time travel mission was billed as a last hurrah of sorts for him. His desire was to see the Empire State Building while it was still under construction. It was a reasonable request, and not particularly abnormal considering the fourteen other requests we’d already facilitated, which included Stiletto, New Mexico, an Old Western town, in 1871; Colonial Williamsburg in 1754; and the Cardinals-Tigers World Series in 1934.”

  “That the game with the big brawl?” someone asked from the shadows. Jeff couldn’t tell who’d said it.

  Dexter nodded. “Game seven, yes. Medwick starts the fight and the Detroit fans throw garbage at him in the outfield. It was a great game to watch. Anyway, extensive research through the various channels set up by the Time Program, including Kane’s PCS, show
ed no conflict of interest for him relative to his requested time and place. It was supposed to be an easy trip – drop in, spend a half-hour walking around Fifth Avenue and taking in old New York, and then head back.

  “Through family history, however, Kane must have known that a key competitor – or, more precisely, the ancestor of that key competitor – had a daily morning routine. He caught up to the man and murdered him on the street as he bought his morning paper. The man’s name was George Mellen, who I found out at the scene of the crime was well-known and was in a related industry to Kane’s family – manufacturing breakfast cereal in Brooklyn. Unfortunately, since the system hadn’t red flagged any connections between Kane and Mellen before the murder, there was no reason for me to collect data. Obviously, once I returned, there was very little information available on Mellen other than the news surrounding the famous murder. The Brooklyn Milling Company sank without his leadership, and was ultimately purchased by… Any guesses?”

  “Kane,” Bremner said.

  “Yes. Well, Kane’s father.”

  “Wow,” said Bremner. “Didn’t see that coming.”

  “No one did, sir.”

  “How was Kane’s company doing at the time of the mission?” Dr. Schmidt asked from across the table.

  “Actually, it was doing quite well, though, as Kane had divulged to me during our interview process, the writing was on the wall. With his impending departure and the industry very much changing to get away from old school, gravity-driven methods toward advanced manufacturing techniques, Kane Industries was in a predicament. They would either need to make heavy capital investments or risk falling behind.”

  “No chance this Mellen fellow was making a move on Kane’s company?” Schmidt asked.

  “It wasn’t anything he mentioned. I suppose anything’s possible. Remember, it was eighty years ago, so it wouldn’t have been George Mellen himself. Perhaps his family.” Dexter paused for a moment. “Though, again, nothing had come up in the PCS. I would think that would have been an easy one for the system to find, so without it there was no cause for concern.”

  Now Jeff’s hand was in the air, thought it was probably too dark to see. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he said, “but I’m just getting up to speed on all of this. Can you go over the research and evaluation process for me? Obviously there’s a hole in the system that can’t account for passed-down accounts of family lore that might not get put into a written historical document, but I’d like to know how a person applies for a mission and gets approved. If you don’t mind me interrupting.” He looked around the table for approval, and received a few nods.

  In the dim light, he couldn’t see Dexter’s facial expression, so he couldn’t know his reaction to the question. Dexter started into an answer, though. “Anyone with the wherewithal to afford a time travel mission is given thorough genealogical, associative and psychological analyses. Our system, housed here at the USTP, analyzes billions of pieces of data for historical connections between the participant and the time and location they wish to see. Each participant then undergoes a rigorous psychological exam performed by Dr. Graham.”

  Jeff looked the other direction at the attractive young doctor, who kept her eyes face front. Now he knew her name, at least. Then he turned back to Dexter. “Has anyone ever been shot down?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Really?” He was smiling in the dark, mainly because he knew nobody could see him. “Has anyone expressed a desire to participate in the time travel program, but... I don’t know... Needed a suggestion as to where and when to travel? Like they thought time travel was cool, but didn’t have their own idea where to go?”

  “No.”

  “And you said sixteen people have gone through the program?”

  “Yes. Well, that’s counting Kane, who now, technically, has not gone through the program.”

  He hadn’t meant to put added pressure on Dexter, but he was becoming more and more cynical about the Time Program as the conversation progressed. Really, it was his other self who seemed to have had great influence on how the program was run, but even with his scientific knowledge, he wasn’t more powerful than the almighty dollar. He’d already figured out the simple truth: if you could shell out enough cash, they’d make the trip happen.

  “Dr. Jacobs,” Bremner said. “Are you going somewhere with this?”

  He shook his head. “No. Just trying to get an understanding of the program. While you haven’t told me why I’m here, I’m assuming that it’s to help determine a solution for the Kane situation. Which I’m more than willing to do. In fact, having just gone through a similar scenario, I’m more than confident there’s a way. We can save the debate on the morals of doing it for after we figure out the logistics. But there are two holes in my understanding that I need them filled in order for me to make sound decisions: the intricacies of Kane’s specific story, which I’m learning now; and, two, the intricacies of the Time Program itself. That’s where I’d like to dig in. In fact, I’d like to actually go through all of the steps that someone would take to prep for a mission.”

  There was a hearty laugh from the end of the table near Dexter. It was the general. “Hell, you designed most of them,” he said. Everyone else thought that was funny and joined him. Jeff strained to see, but he didn’t think Dexter was laughing.

  “I don’t imagine that’s a problem,” Bremner said, looking both ways down the table. “Dexter? Victoria?” He started to give the approval, but Dr. Schmidt interrupted him.

  “Before we get to that,” Schmidt said, “let’s finish up with Kane. How did he end up running, and what happened to him after?”

  Dexter leaned forward and touched the screen on the tablet in front of him. A street map of midtown Manhattan appeared. The date in the corner of the image said 1930, but the layout of the streets was the same as the present. He aimed his laser pointer at the screen and a red dot danced across the grid. “Mr. Kane and I jumped back to an alley here on 34th Street, in between 5th and 6th Avenue and near the base of the Empire State Building. Before I even had a chance to take in the surroundings, Kane hit me on the head with a bottle and disappeared into the crowd on 34th. I searched for him but didn’t see him... until I heard gunshots a half block away. I ran here,” he pointed to the corner of 34th and 5th, “where I saw a man lying on the ground, having sustained gunshot wounds to the midsection. I ran to the scene, and by the time I got there he was being attended to by officers, but was dying quickly. I asked around the crowd to find out who the man was, and there were several who identified him as George Mellen, well-known for manufacturing breakfast cereal and a common visitor on 5th Avenue. Mellen passed away on the sidewalk while officers pursued Kane. Not having any knowledge of where Kane was, I decided there was nothing I could do there and that the best course of action was to return home.”

  “Well, what happened to Kane?” the general asked, looking up at Dexter. “Do we know?”

  “Only through research I did when I returned. Kane was apparently gunned down in a shootout with police about three blocks from the scene of the crime.” He paused to clarify. “I say ‘shootout’ – he didn’t have much ammunition.”

  “So it was a suicide mission?” Bremner asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, you said Kane was sick,” Bremner continued his thought. “Dying. He must have decided the best thing he could do for his family and his company was to go back in time and change history, knowing he wouldn’t be coming back. Yes?”

  Dexter laughed and shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. “Are you asking me to guess?” Bremner was staring at him, waiting for an answer, which he took to mean yes. “I suppose you could say that, but I wouldn’t want to assume anything. I suppose that, based on his actions, something along those lines is probably accurate.”

  Jeff raised his hand, stuttering into his sentence like a third grader who was afraid to ask a question to which he should already know the answer. “I know this shou
ld be obvious, but how did Kane get a gun?”

  “USTP protocol is for the government official accompanying the traveler to be armed,” Schmidt said.

  “It was your gun?” He turned to Dexter’s silhouette, which was nodding. “I don’t remember you knowing how to use a gun.”

  “Clearly there are others who know better,” his friend said.

  “So, what were the repercussions?” Bremner asked. “What was the different in Kane’s company when you returned?”

  “Well, here’s the interesting thing. My only comparison is through recollection. While I had copious notes on Kane’s history, when I returned they didn’t exist. From my recollection, not too much is different, though his market share may be higher than it was.”

  “So, he died in 1930, never returned with you and, what, his son is running the company?” Bremner asked.

  “Benjamin Kane is alive,” the woman, Dr. Graham, spoke for the first time. “I spoke with him this morning.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “The guy is strong enough to travel through time, but the U.S. government can’t get him on an airplane to come to us?” Dexter said, loud enough for most of the people close by at Reagan National Airport to hear him.

  “Quiet,” Jeff said. “You can’t be shouting about this stuff in public. You should know that.” He took a deep breath. He didn’t particularly want to be traveling either. “Think of it this way – it’s a business trip to Florida. Everybody likes those.”

  Dexter huffed, then without a word stood and headed across the terminal. Jeff watched as he disappeared into the men’s room. He laughed. The last time Dexter had gone into a men’s room at an airport, as far as Jeff knew, he’d gone back to the Gold Rush era and was shot in the leg. Only to him it never happened. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, pulling the tension of time travel from his brain.

  Dr. Graham’s announcement that she’d spoken with Kane not only caught everyone by surprise, but it made everyone feel pretty foolish. Collectively, they seemed to have come to an understanding that Kane’s changing history had made his time travel mission unnecessary, but no one had connected the dots to realize that if Kane never took the mission, he was never gunned down by police in 1930 New York and, as a result, would still be alive. Jeff was kicking himself for missing it as well, but did offer himself a little leeway since he was only just learning the story. The rest of them were clearly playing in a sandbox they didn’t belong in if something that obvious had eluded them.