“Dr. B and I were in the travel apparel closet across the hall getting ready for our run to eighteenth-century France, the usual stuff, right? With us were two STEWie newbies who were coming along. Dr. B had to give them a rundown of History’s rules, so I came into the lab to get everything ready. I found it like this.” She shrugged at the mess on the floor as the cracked monitor let out a brief electrical buzz before dying for good. “I checked the log and saw that someone had just left on a run.”
“Who was it? And where did they go?” Nate asked, his arms crossed over his campus security uniform. Next to him, Officer Lars Van Underberg was busy scribbling notes. Where Nate was lanky and reserved, his officer was short, stocky, and affable. He was partial to stroking his caramel-colored mustache nervously when in deep thought. The pencil and sharpener he’d used to carry to avoid getting ink stains on his uniform had long been replaced with the ballpoint pen he was scribbling with now.
Dr. B impatiently shuffled her clogs. “Where did they go? No idea. It’s not like STEWie here has a large display with the time and date on it. Who was it? Two people is all we can tell you at the moment.”
“Did the…uh, newbies, see anything?” Nate asked.
“They were still with me in the classroom when Abigail called. I’ve sent them to the grad student office to wait.”
As Officer Van Underberg jotted all this down, I asked Oscar, “Did you see anyone suspicious enter the building?” I didn’t want to bring Quinn into it if there was a chance that someone else—say, Dr. Holm herself—had hijacked STEWie. It was unlikely that she had done so, given the message she’d sent me, but I held on to the slim hope.
Oscar turned his palms upward. “You saw what it was like, Julia. All of those people came in for Kamal Ahmad’s defense. They seemed like a normal school crowd.” He was clearly distraught that this had happened on his watch. A wiry ex-Marine with a heart of gold, he spent more time at his post than off it. “None of them seemed out of place.” He reconsidered for a moment, then added, “Except perhaps for a blond man who came in with a large backpack. But he said he knew Julia—called you Jules—so I figured it was okay.”
Nate turned his square jaw in my direction. I went on talking to Oscar. “Did he have a tan?”
“Uh—yes. And a dark blue Hawaiian shirt, I think.”
“Really?” This surprised me. The third rule of time travel was Blend in. A Hawaiian shirt, though a staple in Quinn’s wardrobe, was surely the wrong thing to wear to either the finding or the carving of the runestone. Even Quinn should have known that. Maybe it wasn’t him after all.
“Julia? Is he describing who I think he is?” Nate asked.
I sighed. There was no way around it. By now everyone in the room was looking in my direction, even Dr. Little, and it took a lot to wrest his attention away from a computer. After a quick glance at his superior, Officer Van Underberg cleared his throat and asked, “Ms. Olsen, you say you know the man in the Hawaiian shirt?”
“I’m pretty sure that it’s my ex—that is, my husband. Quinn.” I went on. “He has this crazy plan to prove that his grandfather told the truth when he said he witnessed the discovery of the Kensington Runestone as a boy. Have you all heard of it? I can tell you more about it later…Anyway, he thinks the stone is real.”
As Nate opened his mouth to speak, I brought up the only reason left why this might not be Quinn’s doing. “Wait, he wouldn’t have had the door code to the TTE lab.”
With Oscar around to keep an eye on things, the doors to the building were kept unlocked during the day, but the TTE lab itself was always secured. Only the TTE staff and students had the door code, along with researchers from other departments who were on the roster for the month. As soon as I said it, I realized that a door code would not have stopped Quinn. There were ways around that, from snooping around in my office to charming someone into letting him in. “There’s more. I received a message from Dagmar Holm a few minutes ago. Here, take a look.”
Nate raised two dark eyebrows at my cell phone. “She’s the runic specialist you mentioned yesterday?”
“What does it say?” Abigail crowded in to look. “Help. What does that mean?”
“Also—this is Dr. Holm’s headband. I found it on the floor.” The headband had somehow found its way into my pocket.
Officer Van Underberg accepted the headband and placed it into a Ziploc bag he pulled from one of his uniform pockets. “Has anything else been disturbed, Ms. Olsen?” he asked quietly.
“Sorry. I should have left it in place. It’s just—I can’t figure out what happened.”
Still in the same quiet voice, Van Underberg asked, “You think Mr. Olsen forced Dr. Holm to take him into—what year would it be?”
“1898, I imagine, the year the runestone was found. Or 1362, when it was supposedly carved. But this isn’t how he operates.”
“Does Mr. Olsen own a gun or a hunting rifle?”
“Does he own a what? Not to my knowledge. I don’t understand,” I said. “This makes no sense. If you told me Quinn had charmed Dagmar into an off-the books run, I’d believe it. But this…” I looked at the overturned monitor, lifeless and silent on the floor.
I saw Officer Van Underberg hunt around in his uniform for a second Ziploc bag and reached to take my phone back from Nate before the officer could bag it. I needed my phone. There was a seminar-scheduling conflict I had to resolve, not to mention several other office-related issues. Also, perhaps Quinn would call to tell me he was on his way back to Phoenix. Meaning that some other tanned, blond, Hawaiian-shirt-wearing individual with an interest in the runestone and a reality TV show would turn out to be the culprit.
Nate put his hand on his sidearm. “Van Underberg is right. We have to treat this as a possible kidnapping. We need to go after them and get them back. Van Underberg, let’s go.”
The pair headed toward STEWie’s platform in the center of the mirror-laser array.
10
“Hold it, Kirkland,” Dr. Little demanded before Nate and his officer could do much more than step over the base of the nearest mirror. The young professor’s tone was a shade sharp—he and Nate had been involved in a neighborly dispute over a rotted tree. The professor went on as he typed, still using that same brisk tone, “You can’t get in the basket yet.”
Nate said, “Wait here,” to Officer Van Underberg and stepped back over the mirror base to where the rest of us were standing by the workstation. “And why is that, Dr. Little?”
“We don’t know where they’ve gone.”
“Can’t you just keep the mirrors as they are and send us to the same place?”
“If you want to go in blindly, yes,” Dr. Little said, like it didn’t matter to him if Nate did just that. “But the generator will need to be recharged and the equipment cooled down before we send another basket.” The specifics of STEWie’s internal structure were above my pay grade, but I knew that a not insignificant dose of thorium was needed for the machine’s massive power requirements.
“But that’s not the only problem,” Dr. Little added.
“Basket interference,” Dr. Baumgartner said slowly. “Yes, it could very well be an issue.”
Dr. Mooney, who had been silent up to this point, joined in the discussion. “Hmm, yes…Unless we make sure Chief Kirkland and his officer arrive far enough from the basket that’s already there.”
“We better get to work, then.” Dr. B moused the other workstation to life and she and the other two professors launched into a technical discussion of the matter.
“Would someone please explain to me what basket interference is?” Nate asked.
“It’s trouble,” Abigail said. “Two STEWie baskets can’t coexist in the same place and time. If we send you after them blindly, Chief Kirkland, your basket will return as soon as you step out of it and into—what were the years that you mentioned, Juli
a?”
“1898 or 1362.”
“I get it,” Nate said. “Our basket would no longer be needed since theirs is already there. And since baskets are invisible, we’ll have no idea where theirs is, so we’ll have to search for it—”
“—or rely on Julia’s husband to bring you back,” Dr. Little finished the sentence for Nate.
I winced. “Call him Quinn.” He had wanted me to take him on a STEWie trip, but I’d refused. I should have realized that he would take matters into his own hands.
“And even if the basket interference thing weren’t an issue,” Dr. B said, “the prudent thing to do would be to check for ghost zones before anyone else steps into STEWie’s basket. It’s pretty clear that they didn’t run the recommended safety checks—that’s an overnight procedure. We could send the new WMR, I suppose.”
Nate shook his head at the lab’s wheeled mobile robot. “Sending the WMR ahead will take too long. Every minute that passes here is, what, half an hour there? We’re wasting time talking. Professors, just get us somewhere close to them—but not too close—whatever the year and location.”
This was a bad idea. If Nate ended up shooting Quinn, it would make for an awkward development in our relationship. More importantly, it would mean bad publicity for the school and unwanted attention on Sabina. Everything was just starting to get back to normal; this was the last thing any of us needed.
“I’m coming too,” I said, raising a hand.
Nate shook his head at me without bothering to stop as he strode back over to the mirror-laser array. “Quinn has kidnapped Dr. Holm and hijacked STEWie like he was taking a car for a joyride, Julia. This is no longer a personal matter.” He said it as if he thought it hadn’t ever been a personal matter, and that I should have filled him in immediately. Well, perhaps he was right.
I hurried after him and pulled him aside. “Look, I don’t know what happened, but if you really think Dr. Holm is in danger, you need me there to talk to Quinn. Having said that, I’m sure there’s no chance of him harming her, so I don’t think we need the guns.” I wasn’t used to seeing Nate with a sidearm, in his full campus security chief gear. School policy dictated no guns on campus, concealed or not, and campus security followed that rule until a more serious threat came up, which wasn’t often. Most of the problems that merited their involvement had to do with pilfered lab items or stolen bicycles.
“I’m not leaving my sidearm behind, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” Nate’s voice wasn’t exactly low and Dr. Little called out from the workstation, his fingers still busily moving, “I’m not sure a gun will work as you expect, Kirkland.”
“It’s the kind of thing that would draw attention to itself if you used it,” Dr. B said. She and Dr. Little were side by side at the TTE workstations, she in her skirt and bodice, he in his vest and slacks—they were a mismatched pair if ever there was one. Dr. Mooney was pacing back and forth behind them as he pondered the problem of the double baskets.
What the professors were saying about modern devices was true enough—we had been able to use Abigail’s Polaroid camera in Pompeii, but only discreetly. It had refused to come out of its leather bag on more than one occasion. We ourselves had not fitted in seamlessly either, managing to get time-stuck more often than not, forced to wait for History’s paths to rearrange themselves.
“We could just wait them out,” Dr. Baumgartner suggested without looking up from her workstation. “They’ll have to come back soon enough. How many supplies could have been in that backpack? A few days worth?”
“It was a large backpack,” Oscar said.
Still standing inside the mirror-laser array, Van Underberg rubbed his mustache and said pensively, “What if Mr. Olsen returns alone?”
“Exactly,” Nate said. His hand was still on his sidearm. “With a sad story about Dr. Holm not making it back.”
“Oh. He wouldn’t do that, would he, Julia?” Abigail asked, patting me on the arm.
“No,” I replied, more firmly than I felt all of a sudden. After all, I hadn’t seen Quinn in what for him had been a whole year. People did change.
“What’s going on here?”
It was Dean Braga. I hadn’t thought to call her. Oscar must have gotten in touch with her after calling security. She had traded her power heels for the sneakers she kept in the mahogany cabinet of her office and looked winded from hurrying over from the Hypatia House. Dean Braga was too busy to attend every thesis defense, even one as newsworthy as Kamal’s, but the call from Oscar had sent her running over to the TTE lab.
A sudden silence, interrupted only by the humming of the computer equipment, descended on the room as everyone waited for me to explain. I did, using as few words as possible. Except the threat to Sabina, I left nothing out. There was no hiding what had happened—not now.
Dean Braga seemed to think otherwise. “No word of this is to reach the media.”
“Got it,” said Nate, nodding at his officer.
“Everyone at Kamal’s defense heard that something has gone wrong in STEWie’s lab,” I pointed out. “You might want to confiscate Jacob Jacobson’s cell phone, Dean Braga. That is, if he already hasn’t tweeted about this.” Jacob’s tweets had saved the day last time, in what I liked to think of as my first case with Nate, but this was a different matter entirely.
“I’ll tell people it’s a student prank. Let’s stick to that story until proven otherwise,” Dean Braga said, raising my level of admiration for her. Perhaps, micromanaging aside, she had the most important quality a dean could possess—the drive to put the good of the school first, no matter what. She added, “We can deal with correcting that mistaken impression later. If it is mistaken—are we sure, absolutely sure, that this isn’t a prank?”
I nodded. “I wish it was.”
She eyed the fallen monitor with its long crack as if estimating how much it would cost to replace. “Then for the time being let’s try to control the flow of information as best as we can.”
“There you are, Dr. Mooney,” Dr. Payne said, peering through the propped-open doors of the TTE lab. “I’ve told your student that I have a couple of questions for him, but otherwise he can consider himself passed.” Behind him, we could see people streaming out of the thesis defense classroom. I couldn’t help but notice that everyone had chosen the longer route out of the building, which took them past the lab, rather than the more direct route via the other hallway. Several people had stopped by the open double doors and were looking in with frank curiosity. We were losing control of the situation.
Dean Braga sensed it as well and took charge. “Oscar, why don’t you show everyone out and then remain at your post. If anyone asks, the building is closed for the day. Abigail, please go back to the graduate student office and make sure everyone knows not to tweet or text about this incident. Dr. Baumgartner, I think you might as well change out of those clothes. It doesn’t look like you’ll be going on a run today.”
“No, I suppose not. But they might be, it sounds like.” Dr. B nodded toward Nate. Officer Van Underberg was still standing by the mirrors, following our conversation from afar.
“What’s this?” Dean Braga raised a thin eyebrow.
Nate explained, “Officer Van Underberg and I were about to go after them and bring them back.”
“Bring whom back?” asked Dr. Payne, still leaning in through the door. “Who has gone where?”
Dean Braga nixed the security chief’s plan without taking the time to explain the situation to the history professor. “Let’s not be hasty and make a bad situation worse by blindly jumping into STEWie’s basket. We need to put our heads together and see where we stand and what’s to be done. Julia, explain to me about your husband again. But not here. Let’s find a more private venue. And Dr. Payne…”
“Yes?”
“You might as well join us. It sounds like we may need your
expertise.”
Leaving Officer Van Underberg to guard the lab doors, his uniform lending a lie to the story that there was a student prank in progress, Nate and I faced three academics across the rectangular conference room table—Dean Braga, Dr. Mooney, and Dr. Payne. I usually brought refreshments for regularly scheduled meetings, and I fought the impulse to slip out to check whether there was anything left over from Kamal’s thesis defense. Cookies would have probably made everyone feel better (even Nate, who usually didn’t eat junk food, as he called it). I did pull out my yellow legal pad from my shoulder bag to start a list of what needed to be done.
The point Dean Braga brought up first surprised me. She suddenly looked worried. “If we decide that someone should go after them, it shouldn’t be me. I need to stay here and oversee things on this end.”
It was unlikely that anyone would have suggested otherwise—we needed the campus police, someone knowledgeable in time travel, and an expert in American history like Dr. Payne, who looked mildly interested in the proceedings. I watched Dean Braga nervously fiddle with the top button of her dark gray power suit, which is when I put the pieces together. It was well known in the science departments that Isobel Braga had what can only be described as a time travel phobia. I didn’t blame her. She had entered the field of geology with the goal of studying Earth and its past with her feet planted firmly on it, poring over evidence etched into rocks and fossils and tectonic plates, not stepping into a whirlpool of warped light to make jumps measured in thousands of years. I suspected it was why she had sought out her position. She had no doubt been happy to leave behind the lab that had changed so much since she’d first stepped into it a good thirty years ago.
“We need you here, of course, Dean Braga. To oversee things,” I said. Nate nodded shortly in agreement, and I watched Dean Braga’s shoulders relax and the look of consternation disappear from her face. It was replaced by concern for Dr. Holm and the reputation of the TTE department and St. Sunniva University itself.
The Runestone Incident (The Incident Series, #2) Page 9
