by Paul Siluch
Little Charles made a cooing noise. Robbie looked inside the bundle. A pair of sleepy eyes stared back at him. Blond curls framed the infant’s cherubic face. Robbie’s mouth went dry.
“Give me the boy,” Robbie said.
“Look, kid, you ain’t in no position to–”
Robbie jammed the pistol under the hoodlum’s chin. “Give me the boy.”
The hood handed Charles over. The baby squirmed inside the warm blanket. Robbie took two steps back, pistol still trained on the gangster.
“We ain’t gonna kill him,” the hoodlum said. “Ain’t worth a dime dead.”
Little Charles exhaled a warm giggle.
“Get out of here,” Robbie told the hoodlum. “Take your buddy there and go. Tell the world that you have the boy, just like you planned.”
“Look, palley, I leave without that kid and I’m a dead man.”
“Stand here one more second and I put a bullet into that house, people swarm outside, and you spend a lifetime in Sing Sing.” Robbie cocked the hammer.
“Your future just got real short, palley.”
“Or real long,” Robbie said.
The hood slung his dead compadre over his shoulder and hustled off to a dark car near a stand of trees.
Chloe dropped the note on the windowsill and slid back down on the ladder’s side rails. She hit the ground and looked confused.
“Why do you have the kid?”
“Look at him. So innocent. If he leaves here, he dies.”
Chloe gritted her teeth. She slammed Robbie in the jaw with the .38. Little Charles flew from his arms. The .45 plopped in the mud. His head spun and he dropped to the soaked ground.
“This is exactly why Kane sent me to be your babysitter,” Chloe said. “He knew you didn’t have the guts to pull this off.”
Robbie looked up at Chloe. Rain dripped off the end of the .38’s barrel, inches from his face.
“You mean–”
“Yeah,” Chloe said. “No matter what Miss Bridenbaugh thought, I’m not here to help you, you were here to help me. And you’ve done your part and this kid must die.”
“Look, we’re both stuck here forever,” Robbie said. “I know this era. I can keep us out of the timestream.”
“Any risk is too big a risk,” Chloe said. “And we aren’t stuck here.”
She raised the sleeve of her dress with her free hand. A faint green glow came from the red lump on her skin.
“Organic subcutaneous temporal transponder,” she said. “Experimental, but I trust it. Squeeze it twice and I get retrieved home. Right after I clean up this mess. Junior there dies, then you, and then that bitch Maureen. She’s just to be safe, but it won’t keep me up at night later, either.”
Robbie blinked away raindrops. Chloe’s jaw was set, her eyes cold as steel. His heart sank.
“Then just go back,” Robbie said. “Claim ‘mission accomplished’. I’ll take the boy, live out an anonymous life.
“You said yourself Lindbergh has to find the body.”
“Lindberg found a body. The autopsy was a shambles. Basic measurements didn’t match. The identification was always in question.”
“You think there was another kid’s body in the Jersey woods?”
“Laying there as we speak.”
“Big gamble, Stack Rat. My way is easier.” She cocked the .38’s hammer.
Little Charles let out a cry. Chloe snapped her head in his direction. Robbie scooped the .45 from the ground. He grabbed the muzzle of the .38 with his other hand. He brought the .45 to bear but Chloe’s free hand grabbed his wrist. The pistols were aimed at each other’s heads.
“Bad move,” Chloe said.
One gunshot rang out in the New Jersey night.
♦♦♦
“We have a lock, Mr. Kane,” one technician called out.
One purple dot glowed within the pulsing yellow timestream on his screen.
“A lock on what?” Miss Bridenbaugh said.
“Experimental retrieval tech,” Kane said. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it didn’t work.” He turned to the technician. “Shift her home.”
The area inside the time pyramid turned red, then toned down to a rosy hue. Robbie Rainier materialized with a squirming blanketed bundle in his hands. Miss Bridenbaugh dashed to the pyramid. Kane’s jaw dropped.
“Where’s Chloe?” Kane demanded. “And who is that?”
Robbie pulled a blood-soaked wad of ivory dress from inside the blanket and tossed it at Kane’s feet.
“Chloe donated her transponder to save this boy,” Robbie said. “Meet Charles Lindbergh, Junior.”
“Get security down here,” Kane ordered.
“What is going on?” Miss Bridenbaugh said.
“Kane gave Chloe a little secret mission,” Robbie said. “She was supposed to let this boy die, and make sure that Maureen Harrison and I didn’t live to tell about it.”
“Vincent, what were you thinking?” Miss Bridenbaugh said.
“I was thinking,” he said, “that half-measures never guarantee success. Loose ends always unravel.”
“Apparently the timestream managed to survive without my death,” Robbie said. He shifted the bundle in his hands. “Or his.”
Two security guards entered the room. Kane waved them in.
“Take those two,” Kane said.
Robbie raised his hand.
“Not so fast. Let’s see the consequences first. I’m 142 years ahead of you, remember. Time is on my side.”
The guards paused.
“Tomorrow morning, a backhoe starts digging a foundation for my new house at a location you do not know. They will hit a big metal box and I can guarantee they will open it, because the note on the outside tells them to. When they do, they will find a full disclosure of what’s going on down here.”
“You barely know what’s going on down here,” Kane said.
“True, but Maureen Harrison does. Including access codes and a whole lot more.”
Kane grimaced.
“We may have stretched the truth and said all this was in the hands of terrorists, so rest assured that this place will be swarmed with Federal agents in no time. Unless, of course, Little Charles and I walk out of here and I get to that box first.”
“We’ll clean that up when it happens,” Kane said. “Send someone back to last month to get the box early.” He motioned the guards forward. “Lock them up.”
“Stop there,” Miss Bridenbaugh said.
The guards stopped and looked confused.
“Vincent, you’re insane,” she said. “I never authorized any of this. We are not going down this road. Gentlemen, please detain Mr. Kane until I can sort all this out.”
Kane’s face went beet red. “What the hell! You have no idea the potential we have here beyond reading scraps of paper!”
One guard pulled a stun gun from his belt. “Mr. Kane? Let’s do this easy.”
They manhandled him out the door.
“The job is done,” Robbie said. “The timestream is intact. Maureen covered our tracks in 1932. I’ll trade telling the world about this place for this boy’s life.”
“I know you will,” Miss Bridenbaugh said with a wry smile. “Otherwise, you’d lose the boy. Second, you’d end our work. And that would break your little historian heart.”
Robbie smiled. “I’m all touchy-feely that way.”
“It’s Boomerang Day for you, Robbie. You two are free to go.”
The people in the control room parted and Robbie carried Little Charles to the elevator. Miss Bridenbaugh followed him to the door. He held it open with one hand from inside.
“And of course Maureen gave us a backup,” Robbie said, “in case someone changes their mind later. The same note in the box is also in safe deposit boxes across the country, with leases that expire once per month over the next twenty years. Surprisingly cheap to buy in 1932. If I’m not there to clean them out…”
“I get the picture, Robbi
e,” Miss Bridenbaugh said. “But that won’t be necessary.”
The doors slid shut. Robbie looked down into Charles’s pale blue eyes. The baby smiled.
“You know,” Robbie said to Charles. “The world is waiting for someone to make the first solo trip to Mars.”
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About the Author
Russell James was raised on Long Island, New York and spent too much time watching Chiller, Kolchak: The Night Stalker, and Dark Shadows, despite his parents’ warnings. Bookshelves full of Stephen King and Edgar Allan Poe didn't make things better. He graduated from Cornell University and the University of Central Florida.
After a tour flying helicopters with the U.S. Army, he now spins twisted tales best read in daylight. He has written the paranormal thrillers Dark Inspiration and Sacrifice, the collection Tales from Beyond, and the alternate history Touch and Go. His next work, Black Magic, releases in May 2013.
His wife reads what he writes, rolls her eyes, and says, “There is something seriously wrong with you.”
Visit his website at www.russellrjames.com and read some free short stories.
All works available at his Author Page at Amazon.com.
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