Scudding clouds interrupted the moonlight and Bill felt that they aided his mission. He knew from his time with the U.S. Navy SEALs that a person might think they saw a cloud’s shadow rather than a person with the intermediate clouds.
He walked down the same road he had taken during the day and smiled as he heard the music from the same six men, now slightly out of key.
Finally, at the shore, he went to an overturned boat he had checked out earlier. Squatting down behind it, he became part of it as its shadow enveloped him. Bill quickly got out of his clothes and hid them under the boat, put on the goggles and picked up the bolt cutters. Staying in the shadows, he half crawled half slid down to the water and silently entered the dark, chilly waters of Galway Bay. With just his head above water, he felt that he was one with the water and the shadows of the slightly choppy bay. The time traveling ex-SEAL swam out first, then turned and got his bearings before slowly swimming in towards the sixth sailboat tied up at the pier. The water was cold but his concentration on the mission kept his adrenaline high. He slid silently between boats numbers five and six, inching towards the rear using his hands as his eyes in the dark.
Finally at his destination, he put the bolt cutter in his waistband and using his fingers, located his goal: the four bolts that linked the rudder to the tiller. He took a deep breath, went under the water and cut one bolt off of the rudder and let it fall to the muddy bottom of the bay. The ex-SEAL surfaced and sucked in air in a huge gulp. He counted to thirty, took another deep breath and went under again. He felt rust on this bolt and was having a tough time with it when suddenly the boat swayed and the rudder hit the side of his face causing him to drop the cutter. Bill broke the surface and was about to go down and hopefully find it when the boat swayed again and the side hit him on the chin.
But, he thought, I don’t get it the waves are slow and easy near the pier.
The answer was frightening as a voice aboard the boat said, “Etta shall we take her out for a short moonlight sail?”
Bill cringed, Say no, he thought, please say no!
“Oh, I’d rather not, James. I just need to check and see that we have enough wine for Chad and Gloria.”
“Very well, my dear. Tomorrow will be our sailing day with our friends.”
Knowing that they were not sailing away Bill dove and felt along the muddy floor of the bay for the tool. Luckily, it’s heavy and probably fell straight down, he thought on his third dive. He mentally kicked himself that he hadn’t brought a flashlight along. Twelve dives later he was nearly exhausted and almost didn’t feel the tool with his numb fingers. But something said, grab it and he surfaced with the tool into a puddle of light as the boat owners stepped from the boat onto the pier carrying an oil lamp. For a moment Bill and Etta’s eyes met and she screamed as he went under quickly. He surfaced on the side of the boat to hear her husband say, “It most likely was just the reflection of the oil lamp on the dark waters, my sweet. Come, let’s go home.”
“It-It seemed so real. It was eerie.”
As cold as the water was, Bill gave them five minutes before he resumed his task.
Thirty-minutes later the last bolt was cut through and the heavy rudder separated from the tiller and sank to the floor of the bay. Two minutes later an exhausted Bill took a chance and climbed up onto the pier rather than take the long way back to his clothes.
I really have to get back in shape, he thought as he started to walk back. The night was warmer than the water and he was almost dry as he changed back into his clothes.
I’m stopping for a drink, he thought.
He did and it is said to this day that an American dressed in damp clothes, sang terribly out of key at the Pig & Whistle Pub, but as he was buying drinks for all they praised his singing voice until three in the morning.
After breakfast the next morning, although his head was hurting slightly, Bill sat near the boat that he had changed next to the night before. His hands were cut and scratched from trying to cut the last three rusted bolts, but he felt great, as the mission seemed to be complete.
At eleven-fifteen two couples walked down the beach. The men walked together while both women walked side-by-side, both with their parasols up to block the sun. It was Chad, Gloria, James and Etta on their way to take a leisurely cruise. Bill watched as they boarded the sailboat and took their places. James untied the line to the pier, raised the sail and pushed off as he sat at the boat’s rear and took the tiller in his hand. It was then that he realized there was something wrong as he pulled and pushed the tiller too easily and the boat didn’t follow his movements of the tiller. He then looked over the end of his boat and said something to the others before standing and shouting to the other boats around him. One turned and slipped along side and after a quick chat took their line and towed them back to their slip.
Well, thought Bill as he walked up the beach, there won’t be any sailing for them today and they’ll miss being rescued by the Flying Dutchman. Now I can go home.
Bill’s trip home was smooth sailing all the way. He slept great and once again he took his meals in his cabin and spent the ten-day trip reading when he wasn’t walking the deck for exercise. On the third day he had a moment of terror as his ship entered a sudden fog, but emerged twenty minutes later without spotting another ship.
Seven days later he docked in New York, hopped a carriage and twenty-minutes later stood in the club’s garden. He felt compelled to sit a moment and look at the flowers and shrubs that he and his fiancé had admired together. He smiled and thought, Bill, don’t you think it’s time you took a vacation and go see Sherlock Holmes?
Although Bill was gone for over three weeks he decided that he would break his rule of keeping what he called, ‘True to the clock time,’ and go home two weeks earlier rather than staying away the full three weeks. He took out his TFM and entered in, April 19, 2014, opened the security door in the garden and went home.
DATELINE: APRIL 19, 2014 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY
It was nine p.m. when the door to Bill’s den, which was also the time portal, opened and Matt and Samson entered. Matt locked the door and watched as Samson jumped up onto the couch. He went to take off his leash and saw why the beagle had bounded away from him: Bill was fast asleep on the couch. Matt took a blanket and draped it over him and watched as Samson crawled under the blanket and soon both were snoring away.
All is as it should be, Matt thought as he smiled warmly and put the oil lamps on low and left them alone.
Bill spent most of the next day writing up mission reports and napping. He ate dinner alone and had Matt set up the alcove for four and asked him to join him, John and Rocko for drinks. Though Matt tried to get out of it as it seemed to be too fraternizing for him, Bill insisted.
That evening when the grandfather clock struck ten, Bill, Matt, John Brand and Rocko Perna sat at the round table in the alcove. The men were enjoying it even though they had to keep Matt from constantly getting up to serve drinks or light cigars for them.
“Matt,” Bill said as the club’s right hand man stood to get some rum for their rum and coke drinks, “It’s your night off. If anyone needs more of something they can get it for themselves. Just sit back and enjoy the conversation.”
Matt sat back down, but the others grinned, knowing it made him uncomfortable not doing the serving.
John flicked a long cigar ash into the eleven-inch round, amber colored glass ashtray that was on top of the thirty-inch tall brass stand and said, “What a story, Bill. But, let me ask, with the cuts that you got from those rusted bolts, did you get a tetanus shot?”
“Naw,” he answered as he shook his head, “I’m up to date with my shots.”
“So,” said Rocko, “the people from the future gave you a green light to go back and save those four people we saw you with at the table on that scow of a ship?”
“Yep,” Bill answered as he blew a large smoke ring straight up towards the tin ceiling.
“But,
sir,” asked Matt, “I thought that we were not allowed to interfere in anyone’s lifeline. We can’t take a life or save one if history tells us that they passed at that time.”
“Yes,” answered Bill as he sat closer, “But in this case they were doomed to travel forever aboard a ship that will never dock. I didn’t kill or save them. When we left the ship they were alive. I just asked Jerry Sullivan if we could allow them to live in their natural environment. He thought it over and agreed that rather than having them go missing at sea, we could stop them from going out to sea. And that’s how I got my scratched knuckles.”
Rocko nodded, “Boy I wonder if the rudder is still on the bottom of the bay?”
“Along with an eighteen-inch bolt cutter,” added Bill.
John and Rocko left at eleven-fifteen and Bill and his beagle were alone in his den as Matt showed the two men out. Ten minutes later there was a knock at the door and Matt entered carrying a tray with two black and white cookies and hot chocolate in his Donald Duck mug.
“Thanks, Matt. This has been a long mission and it’s good to be home.”
“And it is good to have you home, sir. Breakfast at ten?”
“Ten it is. Goodnight Matt, and once again, thanks.”
Even though he knew he shouldn’t do it, Bill gave Samson half of one of his cookies. He wanted more, but Bill said, ‘no’ and the beagle hopped up onto the leather couch with him. He circled around as he flattened down the non-existing grass, something that his ancestors had done for thousands of years to make a soft bed for the night.
Bill smiled as he stared at his dog, “You crazy wolf-wanna-be. Go to sleep.”
The time traveler turned to his laptop and powered it up. He wondered as he typed, Elizabeth Cochrane, aka Nellie Bly, what was it that she invented that had to do with 55-gallon drums? He went to Wikipedia and besides the information that he already knew, he discovered that she was indeed an inventor.
In 1895 Elizabeth Cochrane, aka Nellie Bly, married millionaire manufacturer Robert Seaman, who was 40 years her senior. She retired from journalism, and became the president of the Iron Clad Manufacturing Co., which made steel containers such as milk cans and boilers. In 1904, her husband died. In the same year, Iron Clad began manufacturing the steel barrel that was the model for the 55-gallon oil drum still in widespread use in the United States. Although there have been claims that she invented the barrel, the inventor is believed to have been Henry Wehrhahn, who likely assigned his invention to her. (US Patents 808,327 and 808,413). Nellie Bly was, however, an inventor in her own right, receiving US patent 697,553 for a novel milk can and US patent 703,711 for a stacking garbage can, both under her married name of Elizabeth Cochrane Seaman.
Bill smiled to himself and wondered, What if I didn’t take her to that manufacturing plant in Brooklyn? Would she have been successful? Wow! This time travel stuff can give a guy a headache.
He started to get up when he thought, Might as well do a Wikipedia check on the Flying Dutchman.
The Flying Dutchman is a legendary ghost ship that can never make port, and is doomed to sail the oceans forever. The myth is likely to have originated from 17th-century nautical folklore. The oldest extant version dates to the late 18th century. Sightings in the 19th and 20th centuries reported the ship to be glowing with ghostly light. If hailed by another ship, the crew of the Flying Dutchman will try to send messages to land, or to people long dead. In ocean lore, the sight of this phantom ship is a portent of doom.
Bill felt a chill and closed the laptop. “Enough for those missions.” He stood and shook his head before sitting back down and opening up his computer once again.
“I have to try and see how those four made out before I can really get some rest.” He typed in, Chad and Gloria Williams, England 1865. Nothing came up so he entered 1866 and got the same results. “Maybe they didn’t do anything spectacular.”
He typed 1867 then 1868, 1869, 1870 and at 1871 a block of information popped up.
In 1871 Sir Chad Williams prevented a man with a knife from stabbing British Prime Minister William Ewart Gladstone. For this selfless deed he was knighted by Queen Victoria and given nine acres of land and a yearly stipend of five hundred pounds. Sir Williams and his wife, Gloria could be seen off the coast of Galway Bay, Ireland, yachting with their lifelong friends, James and Etta Woodrow, eight months out of the year.
This time Bill stood and closed the laptop for the night.
Missions completed.
Chapter 2
The Mona Lisa Mission
DATELINE: APRIL 20, 2070 PLACE: HISTORY TRACKING CENTER, NEW YORK CITY
John Hyder entered the History Tracking conference room waving a book as he said, “Sorry I’m late for lunch, gang, but the new, ‘Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club’ book just came out and I had to get it before they ran out.”
“Hey, John,” said Jerry Sullivan, “Is my mission in it? The Flying Dutchman made great reading.”
John turned to the table of contents as Alexis asked, “John, please check and see if my missions are in it too.”
Joseph Sergi stood up and his six-feet six-inch frame seemed to dominate the room as he said boastfully after he loudly cleared his throat, ”So, it was a good idea after all? Right guys?”
Maryellen Muldey grinned as she rolled her eyes and answered her friend and coworker, “Yes, Joseph, it was a good idea to write-up the missions as fiction and get some revenue out of our toils.” She faced the group and said in jest, “Will everyone stand and give Mister Joseph Sergi a round of applause for his great idea.”
The others ribbed him by booing and hissing as they banged on the conference table.
“All right, all right,” said Joseph as he pushed a lock of black hair away from in front of his eyes, “I know jealously when I hear it. So my next idea, I’ll keep to myself.”
“Yay!” shouted John Hyder, “It worked, guys. You heard him yourselves, he won’t tell us about his next big idea.”
Maryellen stood and faced Joseph. “Joseph, you know that we’re just fooling around with you. The book was a wonderful idea.” She turned to the group and said, “Right gang?”
They answered by giving Joseph a standing ovation and the big man blushed.
John Hyder passed the book around the table. The cover of the book showed a brownstone building that looked exactly like the real 1800 Club, and the cover copy reads: ‘Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club: Book I’. The byline said it was written by: Robert P. McAuley, a ghostwriter the group hired. All proceeds go to charities selected by the group.
“So,” asked Alexis Shuntly, “which of us are in Book 1?”
Joseph answered, “John Hyder handled the President Roosevelt mission, but the, then-president of the club, Prescott Stevens, handled the Lincoln mission. If you all recall he was the president before Bill Scott.”
The rest of the meeting was spent by the members taking turns reading the book aloud.
DATELINE: MAY 3, 2070 PLACE: LUELLEN’S TEA SHOP, NEW YORK CITY
Two weeks after the first book was published, Maryellen Muldey sat in a teashop with Maud Kipner, an elderly woman who lived in the same complex as she did. As Maud went through her very large pocketbook for her lipstick, she took out a book, and placed it on the table.
“Oh,” quipped Maryellen, “I see that you’re reading ‘Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club’. How do you like it?”
“Well,” said the slim woman as she came up with her cosmetic, “I really enjoy this type of book. I think that time travel would be fun. I’d travel back to two weeks ago and go to Kumps department store and buy another tube of Discrete Pleasures lipstick because they were out of it when I went yesterday.”
Maryellen grinned but covered it by wiping her mouth with her napkin. “That could be helpful. Have you read the story on Lincoln or Roosevelt?”
“I just finished the Lincoln Mission and it was wonderful. But,” she added as she looked around the eatery, “as we bot
h know time travel could never be, so we must read what some writer dreams up. I also believe that there are some grammatical errors in it.”
Maryellen shrugged as she arched an eyebrow and said, “Perhaps you are mistaking the slang and accents that the people of the time had, as being grammatically incorrect?”
Maud unscrewed the lipstick’s cap, looked in a small mirror she held and said, “The book says that it is Book 1 and I wonder how many more there will be? I really like to read stories of what might have been and hope there will be more.”
As long as there are missions to be done, there will be books on them, Maryellen thought, but she answered, “From what I heard the writer has many more books on the way so you don’t have to worry about the books ending. Just enjoy them one at a time.”
“I shall, I shall, however,” Maud said as she seemed to drift away, “my family has an old secret that some swear is true while others just laugh at it. If I had a time machine maybe I’d go back and see if it is true or not.” She shook her head as though trying to clear it as she looked intensely at Maryellen and went on, “Would you like to hear it, my dear?”
“If you wish to share it, Maud.”
“Promise me that you won’t laugh.”
Maryellen crossed her heart, “I promise.”
She took a sip of her tea and said in a low voice, “My mother’s great aunt robbed the Louvre in Paris. She took the painting, the Mona Lisa while she worked there.”
Being familiar with the theft Maryellen asked, “Are you sure it was the Mona Lisa? I know it was stolen a long time ago, but it was stolen by a man not a woman.”
“Well, my dear, that’s what the museum people would like the world to believe, that it was a man who robbed them, not a woman.
She sipped her tea and Maryellen smiled inside as she left a huge smudge of lipstick on the dainty teacup and then went on.
Book 11 Page 15
