Lost Time (The Bridge Sequence Book Two)

by Nathan Hystad

  I looked between them, Veronica averting her gaze. “Are you saying… we do something drastic?” The last few words barely escaped my lips. Neither of them replied. “No. We’re not doing that.”

  “Rex, we should go to the government. I have contacts in the military. Lots of them. We have Hunter’s resources. We can make a difference. At least let them assess Dirk and Clay for examination.” Tripp made some valid points, but none of us would agree to those terms.

  “Hunter assured us the Believers were everywhere. Saul corroborated this, as did Fred and Francois. This is deep. We can’t trust the government,” I said firmly.

  “Then who can we trust?” Veronica asked.

  “Ourselves. You, me, Tripp, and Marcus.”

  “What about Saul?” Tripp leaned against the fridge, peering past me into the living room.

  “I hope we can trust him too. Especially since we left Bev and the kids in his care,” I said.

  Lights flashed in the front window, and Tripp darted over, peeking through the curtains. A car was turning around in the driveway. “We need to leave here.”

  “And go where?” Veronica asked while the car headed down the street.

  Tripp kept staring out the window. “Somewhere inconspicuous. Scranton, for example.”

  “Scranton? When?”

  “We leave in the morning. I’ll stay awake tonight. Make sure to have everything packed up. Can you find another place there?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Veronica was already on her phone, searching for listings.

  “It was probably someone making a wrong turn,” I told Tripp.

  “I don’t care. I’m rattled, Rex. What was that device in Hunter’s basement? Then your dad and his sidekick… God, I wish I was chilling on a beach somewhere right now. I was supposed to do a job for Hunter and retire.” Tripp sat with Marcus at the table.

  “Don’t you think I’d rather be teaching at my college, without a gunshot wound in my gut? We’ve all made sacrifices, Tripp.”

  The conversation ended when Veronica found a place and booked it for the next day. Heading inland a couple of hours from here might be a good call. Marcus kept searching through the files while we ate, and eventually, I woke my dad gently, urging him to the bedroom.

  He lay on the bed, reeking of booze, and turned away from me, still dressed. “Gerene dokta.”

  It sounded like gibberish, and I folded a blanket over him. “Goodnight, Dad.”

  “Goodnight.”

  6

  I’d never been to Scranton before, and it was actually larger than I’d imagined. Veronica had abandoned the Mercedes, to her dismay, and we’d all crammed into the van. The house was even smaller than the last one, with a barking dog in the yard next door, but I didn’t expect to be here for long.

  We had an early night, with Marcus unable to locate anything useful on the mysterious seventh Token. My sleep was restless with images of the incoming Objects floating through the skies. I saw them over Hunter’s dead body in Antarctica. I was once again inside the ice tubes in Japan, chipping at the blocks, searching for a Token, only to uncover Hunter’s frozen face instead. Then I transported to Paris, ambling through the catacombs, and one of the skeletons rose, walking toward me, the bones clattering. “Gerene dokta,” it said in my father’s voice. “Gerene dokta.”

  When I woke, it was still dark outside. Everyone was asleep, and I checked my jacket to find the single Token I’d brought on this trip with me. I rubbed my finger over the imprint of the crescent moon and took a deep breath. They were just dreams.

  In a couple of minutes, I was perched at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of coffee, watching the sun rise in the east through the living room windows. Marcus arrived, bleary-eyed and puffy-cheeked.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Hunter’s system is a disaster.”

  “Anything yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’ll find something soon,” I assured him.

  “Feels like I’m spinning my wheels.” He rubbed his face, and I grabbed my friend a coffee. “Rex, will we ever be able to go home?”

  I stared at him and hated that he’d been sucked into this with me. I gave him the most truthful answer I could. He deserved nothing less. “I doubt it.”

  Marcus nodded, as if he’d expected the answer. “I do believe we can help. But what if Tripp’s right? What if there is no Token?”

  “I didn’t think you were listening,” I told him.

  “I was.”

  “Then we pivot. It’s what every good adventurer does, right? Find a misdirection, you refocus and figure it out.”

  “Sure. It’s not like we have a lot of time, though. To regroup, I mean. These Objects are coming.” Marcus looked older. Gone was the youthful twenty-three, replaced by an exhausted man thrown into circumstances beyond anyone’s capabilities.

  “They’re coming,” I agreed.

  We were sharing a room, and he’d left the door open. His computer was chiming, like he’d set the world’s most annoying alarm. His eyes sprang wide, and he smiled as he dashed toward it, returning with the computer in his grip. “It found something!”

  Tripp and Veronica entered the hall. She had a white robe on, the waist not cinched. I averted my gaze and waited for Marcus to explain whatever had him so excited.

  “This is it!” He scrolled through a document: scanned pages from Hardy’s handwritten notes. “There’s a passing reference to a black circular disk, with a crude sun image drawn on it.”

  My heart raced in my chest, making my eardrums bang loudly.

  “Where is it?” Tripp asked, sitting on a dining room chair backwards. He leaned forward, trying to get a better view of the screen.

  Marcus read the notes. “According to this: The disk sounds to be from a similar material as the hexagons, but without seeing it, I can’t verify anything. That being said, there is no confirmation that the Tokens I’ve marked descriptions of are from the same source either. I’ve heard rumors that a collector in France has located this particular artifact, but when I mentioned this to Hunter, he dismissed its validity, stating that was the Believers’ Sovereign’s collection, and that all we were to be concerned with were the hexagons. I would be interested in witnessing this unique relic as well as the hexagons, and will suggest it to Walker and Belvedere when we meet to discuss our joint venture.”

  He paused to look up. Dirk and Clayton had joined the group.

  “Hardy never mentioned this, did he, Clay?” my dad asked.

  Clayton cleaned his glasses on his shirt and shook his head. “It wasn’t brought up to us. Sounds like the Believers have it.”

  “Damn. That makes things tricky,” Tripp grunted. “How do we know where it is?”

  “Saul. He’ll have an idea. He has to,” Veronica said.

  I tried calling him, estimating it was mid-afternoon in Porto, but there was no answer. Bev didn’t have her own phone anymore, so we had limited contact. I hung up and sent him a note to respond immediately.

  “We need supplies,” Tripp said.

  “We don’t even know where we’re headed next.” I rose, and Veronica took my chair.

  “Either way, we need to be prepared. I’m going to buy some clothing for us and secure more”—Tripp glanced at me—“protection.” I knew what that meant.

  “Fine, but we might be traveling across the world again. We have no clue what’s out there.” I checked the fridge, finding it empty. All this bouncing around hadn’t been great for meal plans. “Marcus, see what else you can learn. And good work.”

  Tripp was already getting dressed, and I took a quick shower. By the time I emerged, Tripp and Dirk had already gone.

  “I’m going to walk to the store,” I told them. It was a ten-minute hike, but I was feeling cooped up, anxious to be moving, and until Saul contacted me again, I had no leads. He still hadn’t messaged me, and being cut off from the man guarding my sister had me on edge.

  �
��Want some company?” Veronica asked.

  “You better stay with Marcus and your dad.” It was chilly out, and I took a scarf with me. There was snow on the ground, and I started for the store, heading onto the sidewalk near a busy street. My breath misted out in front of me in the chilly air, and the gentle breeze carried a biting cold with it.

  I walked by a coffee chain, a bakery, and a bank before finding the grocery store. This was just what I needed. A normal chore to distract me. While Tripp was off trying to procure more guns, I’d fill a cart with enough food to tide us over until the next house.

  It was warm inside, with hot air blowing on me in the cart holding area. I wasn’t familiar with the supermarket layout and went to the produce first. The place was quiet on a Thursday morning, with a few seniors poking around, squeezing avocados and shaking water off heads of lettuce.

  I met the gaze of a man near the salad mixes, and he glanced away, adding a package to his cart. He wore a dark trench coat, a suit underneath. He looked about my height, medium build.

  “Excuse me. Do you know where the shallots are?” an older woman asked me.

  “Uhm, sorry, I’ve never…” I glanced over to see the man had disappeared. I did spot the shallots, and pointed them out to her.

  Grabbing some pasta, I saw the man again, coming within ten feet of me as he reached for an Alfredo sauce. I began to retreat as calmly as I could. His behavior was suspicious, at best.

  I stepped away, and he went in the opposite direction. I waited, stopping at the end of the aisle, and rushed two over, moving through it quickly. I turned right, finding him peering at the registers as if expecting me to arrive at any second.

  Walking as quietly as possible, I slowed behind him. If he was with the enemy, I had to hope he wouldn’t attack me inside the grocery store. “What do you want?” My voice was low.

  He spun, almost dropping his basket. “Dr. Rexford Walker?”

  “Who’s asking?” I kept my distance, ready to throw a can of corn at him while he crammed a hand into his trench pocket. Instead of pulling free a gun, he held a badge. FBI.

  “Special Agent Evan Young,” he said. “I’ve been tracking you for a while, Dr. Walker. You’re not an easy man to locate.”

  I had so many questions for him but waited for him to make the first move.

  “Can we speak in private?” he asked.

  “I’d rather not, if it’s all the same.”

  “I have plenty to bring you in with, Walker, but maybe we don’t need to do things on the books.” Special Agent Young smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

  “There’s a coffee shop across the lot. How about we go there?” I suggested.

  He agreed to it, and I gathered a few more things after he assured me I wasn’t being detained after our discussion. I nervously paid for the stuff, with Young watching over me, but I could tell he was trying not to be invasive. He likely assumed I was a flight risk.

  I carried the grocery bags through the parking lot, careful not to agitate my stomach, and he offered to put them in his car. It was a basic black sedan, a rental. This told me he wasn’t from around here. I took him up on it, and soon we were walking into the coffee joint.

  We ordered lattes, his with low-fat cream, and we appeared like two coworkers, or old acquaintances catching up. It couldn’t have been farther from the truth. His eyes were dark brown, years of stress creating worry lines across his receding forehead. I glanced at his finger, seeing a thin yellow gold wedding band, which he toyed with after sitting down at a table far from any other patrons.

  I opened the coffee lid, letting it cool, and waited for the FBI agent to begin the conversation. “What do you know of the Believers?” he asked calmly.

  “What are the Believers?” I asked coyly.

  “Don’t mess with me, Walker.” We both kept our jackets on, and I pretended like mine was a protective layer. Maybe he did the same thing.

  “I’m not sure what you think about me, but it’s not accurate. I’m only a professor,” I said.

  “What are you doing in Scranton?” he asked.

  “You got me. I met a girl. I like minor league hockey. I’ve always wanted to visit an industrial city.” He didn’t appear to appreciate my response.

  “Rexford Walker, born of Rebecca and Dirk Walker. Sister Beverly. Who has vanished from the face of the earth with her husband Fred and two children. Where are they, Rex?” Young asked.

  I wasn’t that impressed. Those were fairly basic details anyone could figure out. “Vacation, I think.”

  “Do you have any idea what you’re facing? This cult is led by a maniac. They’ve left a trail of blood so thick, you could swim in it. I’ve been following them for a decade, and I’m still grasping at straws. My bosses are breathing down my neck, trying to bury me in other cases, but this is the only one that matters. Help me bring them to their knees, Walker.” I heard the desperation in his voice as he touched his ring again.

  “What happened to her?” I asked, peering at the wedding band.

  He frowned and sipped his coffee. “Who’s asking the questions here?”

  “Tell me why you’re so invested in this, and maybe I’ll comply,” I said.

  Young set the cup on the table and sighed, the kind of noise that only emanated from someone holding too much inside. “We lived in DC. She worked on a campaign for a senator. One of the staffers recruited her. I was so busy in those early years, trying to advance in the Bureau. I should have seen it coming. She always had a fascination with space, aliens, and first contact. It was a hobby, though, like gardening or knitting. It was harmless.

  “Until it wasn’t. She started attending meetings and refused to tell me what went on. She said it was a book club, but her cover was so bad, it was easy to figure out. I followed her a couple of months later and saw her throwing a cloak on outside a suburb hotel conference center. The very same senator was there too. No one knew they’d been seen, and when I questioned her about it later, she denied it.”

  I listened to his story, sensing where it was going.

  “Everything seemed better for a while. She was more loving, spending more time with me, and I had a job in Florida for two, three weeks. When I came home, she was gone. Her stuff was there. Purse. Cell phone. Everything. The police found nothing out of place. No DNA. No struggle. Doors were locked. They said she’d left me. I didn’t believe them. I’ve spent every waking hour working on the damned cult since then.”

  “I’m sorry, Young.” And I meant it. This was a gut-wrenching tale.

  “Thanks.”

  “What about the senator?”

  He pointed to a television screen behind the coffee bar. “He’s in the White House. Vice president. Untouchable. I didn’t protest much then, because the moment I brought it up to my superiors, they threatened to have me demoted. I understood I was alone.”

  “And did you ever find her?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “How long?”

  “Eleven years.”

  I was fully aware what it was like to wonder what happened to a loved one after a disappearance, and his story resonated with me. We were kindred spirits. “How can I be certain you’re telling me the truth?”

  “I’ve got nowhere else to go. I heard about Richard Klein. Saw the police statement. I read his phone records. He was desperately trying to reach you. It put me on your trail. The local PD seemed to close the case quickly, blaming a home invader caught a few blocks away that same night. But I didn’t believe it.”

  “Cover-up,” I mumbled.

  “Indeed. Are you going to help me?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what you want from me. They’re a cult, and a dangerous one at that. What can I possibly do for you?”

  “The Objects. I think they’re related to the Believers. Time is running out. If I want to find Diane, I have to act fast.”

  “Even if you locate her, she’ll be too far gone. She left you, remember?”

  “
All that matters is knowing what happened to her. And making them pay.”

  I liked the cut of his jib, and nodded slowly. “I want you to promise there are no repercussions on me or my allies.”

  “I can’t really do that, not if you divulge—”

  I started to stand, and he grabbed my jacket sleeve. His expression reeked of desperation. “Don’t. Fine. I’m not even on the books with this case. I won’t so much as write your names on paper.” He held a hand up, like he was swearing on a Bible in court.

  “Where should I begin?” I peered around the coffee shop, feeling eyes on us. No one was paying any attention to the two forty-something-year-old men chatting quietly.

  “At the beginning.”

  I talked, explaining Hunter Madison’s involvement. When I got to the Bridge, he laughed, as if a pathway to another world was the craziest thing he’d ever heard. He stopped when he realized I wasn’t chuckling along. I told him about the Tokens, hoping like hell my instincts were right about this guy. We needed help with this tight timeline, and someone in the FBI could bring their connections, help us crack this wide open. Resources we had, but manpower was slim.

  The entire story took over an hour, and I included the incident with Francois at Cal Harken’s home in LA. He took a few minutes on his phone, checking the information, and found the police report from the incident. So far, everything I’d said had checked out.

  When I told him about the altercation outside Porto, he stopped me. “Your brother-in-law is dead? And he was one of the cultists?” Evan Young drank more of his coffee, nervously tapping his foot. He had nicotine stains on his fingers, and I could sense he was itching for a smoke.

  “Go for a walk?” I asked, and he drained the cup. We tossed the empties into the trash as we headed outside. It was warming up, the sidewalk wet with melting snow.

  He reached for his pack of smokes, tapping one free. He offered the pack to me, and I shook my head. A second later, he was puffing away, taking long inhales. “What happened next?”

  “We used the Tokens and the Case.”