Time Frame

by Douglas E. Richards

  That was a new endgame for him, one he had come upon while waiting inside his Wyoming mansion to be put to death. Right now, Knight could produce thousands of copies of himself, have all the backups he needed, but they would all eventually age and die, at essentially the same rate that he did.

  But this would no longer be true when he was done reshaping the world, when he had finished pushing the boundaries of human genius.

  But this part of his strategy wasn’t something he was about to disclose.

  “What do you think?” asked Knight when he had finished outlining the sanitized version of his plan. “Still say it can’t be done?”

  “You’ve certainly thought it through,” admitted Vargas. “But even if it is possible, why would you want to do it? How much power and wealth does anyone need? I didn’t think anyone could be more ambitious than me, but I see now how wrong I was. Given your time travel technology, you could amass more wealth and power than anyone in history. Without going to any of this trouble. Or taking on any of this risk.”

  “It isn’t about wealth and power,” said Knight, and this much was true. It was about control. It was about ridding the human species of terrorists and ignoramuses, and elevating genius so he could live forever.

  “What is it about, then?” pressed Vargas.

  “It’s about me raising the species to undreamed of heights. At the risk of being immodest, I’m the only one who can do it. It will be my gift to the world. And even though you think it’s too grandiose, not worth the trouble, you’ll get to ride my coattails.”

  “Just to be clear,” said Vargas, “you make it seem as though this transformation of society will be bloodless. I assure you, the truth is much different. To make this a reality, you’ll have to wipe out large groups, and scores of individual players, who are neither terrorists nor dictators.”

  Knight eyed him with interest. “Do you have a problem with that?” he asked.

  “I’d be your number two man?”

  “Yes. I can’t govern the world alone. You’d basically be the president of any number of countries, among other duties.”

  Vargas considered. “Then no,” he said finally. “I don’t have a problem with that. What’s a little bloodshed in the grand scheme of things?” He paused. “Of course, all of this depends on what you want me to do. I’m assuming it isn’t a suicide mission.”

  “Far from it,” said Knight.

  “You began this by saying you thought you could get me into Q5.”

  “There is some risk that my plan won’t work, but I think the odds are very good.”

  Vargas nodded. “I assume my contribution will be to bring Nathan Wexler’s work back out. To enable you to extend your teleportation reach.”

  “And help me shut down Q5 behind you.”

  “By shut down, you mean . . . ”

  “Destroy them. Completely. And any personnel or technology that could be used to reconstitute them.”

  “Why?” asked the colonel.

  “Because they have the same tech I do. They’re the only ones who can stop me. When Cargill and Q5 are gone, the path won’t be easy, but it will be clear.”

  “And you’ll also get that revenge thing sorted out, won’t you?” pointed out Vargas.

  “Icing on the cake,” said Knight, flashing a predatory smile. He leaned forward. “What about it, Colonel? If you agree to join me, I’ll require you to do exactly as I tell you. I’ll demand absolute loyalty. But the rewards will be almost beyond comprehension.”

  He paused to let this sink in. “So,” he finished, staring deeply into Vargas’s eyes, “are you in?”

  There was a long silence as Vargas weighed his decision. Finally, a smile spread slowly across his face. “Absolutely,” he said enthusiastically. “You came to the right man.”

  33

  Hank Vargas took a bathroom break while Knight sent one of the Rourk trio to pick up sandwiches and an assortment of beverages.

  When Rourk returned, twenty minutes later, the five men ate a hasty lunch and resumed proceedings, with each of the two principals now holding ice-cold bottles of water.

  “So what is your plan for getting me inside Q5?” asked Vargas.

  Knight laid it out for him in great detail over almost thirty minutes.

  When this discussion ended, Vargas nodded enthusiastically. “I think it’ll work,” he said. “I’ll make it work,” he added.

  “You’d better,” said Knight. “We won’t get a second chance.”

  “Let me get back to my office to prepare. Organize my thoughts.”

  “Sure,” said Knight. “But we need to take care of one more thing before you leave.”

  Vargas raised his eyebrows.

  “I know you don’t share my goals,” said Knight. “Too visionary. Too grandiose. I get that. Regardless, I’m also certain that you’d love to get your hands on my tech. Take the easy route to wealth and power you spoke about.”

  “You’re worried that I’ll turn on you?”

  “In a word, yes.”

  “You have the knowledge of time travel and the passwords to make it happen. I can’t get anywhere without you. I’m more than content to be your number two.”

  Knight laughed. “You forget that I know you. That I’ve worked with you. You’ve never struck me as the kind of man who’s content being anything other than number one. And an extreme alpha number one, at that. Which is good. I’d have no use for you otherwise. But I still need to take precautions. If I don’t, once you’re inside Cheyenne Mountain, you’ll be able to do whatever the fuck you want.”

  “I am content being number two,” said Vargas, “because that’s what I am now. My boss is Kate Johnson, Secretary of Defense. And I don’t respect this bitch one bit. If I can handle playing second fiddle to her, following you won’t be a problem. If you can pull this off, being your second-in-command will bring me far more power than I could ever get on my own. What can I do to convince you that I’m all-in? That I won’t cross you?”

  “I’m so glad you asked,” said Knight. He pulled a titanium capsule from his pocket and placed it in the palm of his hand. “See this?”

  “Barely,” said Vargas, squinting at the silver capsule in Knight’s hand, about half the size of an extended-release cold capsule. “What is it?”

  “It’s a very sophisticated, computerized poison delivery system. There are two very tiny compartments inside. One contains a toxin so lethal that even this tiny amount is enough to kill a man ten times over. The other contains an agent that can nullify the toxin.”

  “There is no such poison delivery system,” said Vargas. “I’ve been in charge of black weapons programs now for years. I’d know if such a thing existed.”

  “There is now,” said Vargas. “A little trick my Brain Trust cooked up.”

  The colonel’s eyes narrowed. “And you’ve confirmed it works?”

  “Perfectly.”

  Vargas shook his head adamantly. “If you think I’m going to let that anywhere near me, you’re out of your fucking mind.”

  “Do you consider having it implanted in your skull, near you?”

  Vargas rose to his full height with a menacing intensity, and all three Rourks made a point of extending guns in his direction. He visibly relaxed his posture, so he no longer looked like a predator poised to strike, and they relaxed their aggressive postures in turn.

  “So here is how I envision this working,” continued Knight calmly. “I implant this in your skull. Very easy to do, with almost no pain and no aftereffects. Not only does it have a computer onboard, it has a receiver that my Brain Trust cooked up. One that picks up signals, even through lead walls. Even inside Cheyenne Mountain,” he added pointedly. “It will be set to release the toxin into your brain every Sunday at midnight, Eastern Standard Time. Unless I send a signal telling it to abort. If you’re as loyal as you say, I’ll reset it every week, in plenty of time, and you’ll have nothing to worry about. Cross me, and you’ll at least have th
e chance to say Sunday prayers one last time before you go.”

  “Not a chance,” snapped Vargas.

  “Why not?” said Knight. “You tell me you’ll be loyal. That you won’t cross me. So prove it. This is just an insurance policy, one I’ll never have to cash in, right?”

  “Just because I know I won’t cross you,” said Vargas, “still doesn’t mean I’ll let you stick a goddamned time bomb in my head.”

  “I’m afraid that’s the deal. Non-negotiable. You’ll never get a better one in a thousand life-times. Take it or leave it. I should also point out that this won’t be a threat to you forever. Once we’ve taken out Q5 and set things in motion, I expect us to be operating mostly out of different locations. And you’ll have earned my trust. At that time, I’ll issue the order to open the partition between compartments so the toxin is neutralized. I’d remove the device entirely, but once it’s in, it’s tamper proof. So much so that even I can’t remove it.”

  “Your word that you’ll eventually neutralize it doesn’t change a thing,” said Vargas. “It’s not going to happen. I won’t let any man keep a sword at my throat. What if this tech malfunctions? I’m supposed to just trust it? What if you die in a car accident? Or get drunk and forget to send the kill code? Or lose your fucking mind?”

  The unmistakable sound of helicopter blades whipping through the air could be heard off in the distance, swiftly growing louder. “Hold that thought,” said Knight. “This is my ride.”

  “Your ride?”

  “Good timing, actually, since we seem to be at something of an impasse. The helo will be landing any minute behind the house. I have some matters I need to attend to for a few hours. So while I’m gone, I want you to think through everything we’ve talked about. Think about what I’ve shown you. You’ve traveled through time. Think about that! Think about what I’m offering.”

  “Even if I agreed to your implant, how do I know you won’t kill me once I’ve done what you want?”

  “You don’t. But you have my word. Even if you weren’t critical to my plans, you have an impressive skill set, one that can be very useful to me. Special forces. Considerable combat experience. Black Ops experience. Well connected. And I can’t do this alone. I’m fresh out of top lieutenants after Cargill’s attack. You succeed, and you’re the last person on Earth I’d kill.”

  “And if I refuse to have that thing implanted?”

  “Then I have no use for you,” said Knight in disdain, raising his voice to be heard over the growing din of the helicopter as it landed twenty feet away from the farmhouse. “You’re free to go back to your life and pretend this meeting never took place. I’ll find another way. But you’ll always know that you turned your back on the ultimate opportunity.”

  Knight walked to the door and turned back. “Give it two hours of steady thought,” he shouted, “and we can talk more when I return. I know you’ll make the right decision,” he added as he exited the farmhouse.

  Minutes later Vargas heard the helo fly off, carrying the most dangerous man on Earth to an unknown destination, and leaving him with much to ponder.

  34

  As Blake cut through the pitch-black night on a motorcycle, continuing his recon activities, he felt very much like a field mouse inside a hawk sanctuary. Even though China and America were not at war, anytime an operative engaged in clandestine operations in another country, he had to consider himself behind enemy lines. But this was usually more metaphorical than real.

  Not this time.

  Blake decided he would have been safer had he been an American spy hiding in Nazi Germany during the Second World War.

  Blake pulled the motorcycle to the north and left the road he had been on, canceling his contact’s night-vision feature as he did. His second night in the backwoods of China was cold, dark, and moonless. While he could use his contact to drive without headlights on any paved roads that he was forced to take, this wasn’t possible while riding over rough terrain. This was a perilous activity even with the headlights on full, and he had come close to wiping out on several occasions.

  He had been lucky that Zhang had made such an excellent choice in motorcycles. The bike had plenty of horsepower but was whisper quiet, incorporating noise-reduction technology that had only become available earlier in the year. It was also a crossover, designed for both street and off-road usage, as capable when tearing through woods and rough terrain as the best mountain bikes.

  He made his way to the top of a wooded hill and pulled out his binoculars for the fourth time that night, his last, not bothering to dismount from the bike. He cursed to himself once again as more helicopters came into view off in the distance, adding to the many he had already seen, moving in tight circles, slowly, methodically, inexorably.

  Just great. A perfect addition to the roadblocks that continued to sprout up like weeds.

  The roadblocks from the first night hadn’t been dismantled. They had been expanded. It was a nightmare.

  His recon indicated that the roadblocks formed a large noose, and he was near one of the noose’s boundaries. So far the helos had started beyond this boundary and were making their way outward, in case he had made it through. Smart. If he had escaped the initial perimeter, the helos might spot him. And if he hadn’t, if he was still trapped within the perimeter—which he was—they had all the time in the world to constrict the snare until he was theirs.

  This operation was sucking up a huge amount of manpower. Not only that, but it was disruptive to the entire area, no doubt causing a precipitous rise in the anxiety levels of the local citizenry and causing a public relations black eye. Blake could only imagine the panic he would see in rural America, say in the middle of Iowa, if the military set up roadblocks at every exit and manned them with soldiers sporting automatic weapons. The Chinese government and military were less concerned about public perception than the American government would be, but the actions he was witnessing would still only be made as a last resort.

  With this level of commitment from the Chinese military, it was only a matter of time before the walls finished closing in around him. He wasn’t just a spy behind enemy lines. He was a spy trapped behind the lines of an enemy who was willing to use an army to find him. Worse, he was a spy saddled with a massive eighteen-wheeler that he couldn’t leave, one he had covered in duplicated tree branches to help disguise it from above, but which made mobility and concealment as difficult as possible.

  He decided that this must be why something that was hard to find was referred to as a needle in a haystack. Apparently, a Mack truck in a haystack wasn’t as much of a challenge.

  Why were they so keen to find him? While he was an enigma, and there had been a brutal gang war at the airport, this shouldn’t have been enough. Not for the measures they were taking.

  But how could they know about his real mission and the purpose of the kettles? Only two men on Earth knew about this, so there was zero chance of a leak.

  What was going on?

  Whatever it was, one thing had become clear: his chances of survival, let alone success, were rapidly diminishing.

  35

  Colonel Hank Vargas clenched his fists, seething, as Knight exited the room.

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  This had gone both better and worse than he could ever have imagined.

  Time travel? Who could have possibly guessed that? Guessed both its limitations and the stunning possibilities it opened up despite these limitations?

  Now what?

  Knight was lying, there was no question about that. There was no way he’d let Vargas go free if he refused to cooperate. He would know too much. Knight would never allow him to live.

  Knight hoped Vargas would acquiesce to the implantable capsule on his own, but if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be given a choice.

  Vargas considered his options. Escape would be easy, despite three armed Jack Rourks guarding him. If he blinked in a certain sequence, the smart contact lens he had put in his right eye tha
t morning would signal his ring to forcibly expel a hideous odor, one that would have the Rourks vomiting all over themselves, making it surprisingly difficult for them to aim a gun.

  He had taken a pill before leaving that left him temporarily immune to the smell, but he had experienced it during a test run a month before, and it somehow overwhelmed the revulsion centers of the brain in ways that even its creators couldn’t have predicted. He shuddered just thinking about what a horrible, debilitating experience it had been,

  Another blink pattern would trigger Vargas’s hat to flash as brightly as a stun grenade, temporarily blinding his three adversaries. But why risk one of them getting off a lucky shot while blind?

  Instead, if he chose to escape, he would take door number three, the blink pattern that would trigger the release of a sonic blast from his belt so powerful it would kill all three Rourks. In fact, it would kill everyone within a room twice this size.

  This was the reason it was still experimental. The scientists involved were working on a way to make it less lethal. Unconsciousness would be ideal, in case the user had allies in the room with him. It was only even usable in its current form because the device’s inventors had managed to make the deadly acoustic waveform emanate outward from the belt in a highly directional three-hundred-sixty-degree circle, making it weak enough at its point of origin to spare the man wearing it. Even so, Vargas would be deaf for several minutes and feel like he wanted to die.

  But was escape his only option? The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that it was. He couldn’t let Knight booby trap his skull under any circumstances. It was as simple as that.

  So he would take out the three Rourks and lie in wait for Knight to return, killing him when he did. He had no other choice.