by CJ Martín
Approaching the apartment entrance, Sam was struck by a sudden feeling of weakness. He staggered and grabbed hold onto the brick wall for stability. It was as if he was experiencing an earthquake, but nothing outside shook; the shaking was from within.
He heard whispers and then shouts. Screams replaced the shouts. He sensed some presence nearby and that it was evil. Silence replaced the screams. He was already emotionally drained; the echo and the creeping darkness at twilight time combined to confuse Sam completely.
Then it all stopped. He continued to lean against the brick wall, hoping it was truly over. Somewhat recovering, he lifted his head to see the entrance. He violently shook his head trying to regain his composure.
What was that?
It had been the strongest “Echo” since he first heard the voices in that Japanese hospital room. He couldn’t tell what it meant, but he had a feeling it wasn’t good.
“Samuel. It is good to meet you.”
Sam turned his head to see the face of an old man wearing a bowler hat. It was only then that he realized the stranger was holding him up, preventing him from falling. Sam strengthened his legs and stood straight, releasing himself from the man’s hold.
“Are you the… old man?”
“I am the one you seek. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Sam nodded, not sure what to say.
“Come, boy, let us go for a walk while you fill me in. Spare no detail.”
Sam followed the stranger as they walked down a busy street filled with parked cars, shabby clothed pedestrians, and zooming taxis. The old man’s voice sounded familiar somehow, but he said very little, preferring to listen to Sam talk instead.
“Sir, I do not understand what is happening, but the authorities at the airport stopped Suteko. I didn’t want to leave her, but she gave me orders to go find you should something happen to her.”
“You did the right thing, boy,” the old man said with his eyes looking down. His hat had a wide brim for a bowler; it kept his eyes hidden. “But tell me, how did this all begin? Do you hear voices?”
“Yes. There was an earthquake. I woke up hearing voices. Then Suteko appeared and I realized I had dreamt of her before. She says I am in a reoccurring dream of hers too.”
“Interesting. But that isn’t the only dream you’ve had, is it?”
“No, sir. That’s what led us here. I’ve had a nightmare and apparently Suteko has also.”
“Go on.”
“Death. There is a bomb that goes off and people start dropping one by one. I just watch helpless and unable to move.”
“Yes, I have seen this too, but where will this take place? Where is Suteko going?”
“You do not know?”
“I would like to know what you know—for confirmation.”
Sam hesitated. A hint of aggression was in the old man’s voice. Yet, this had to be the man Suteko sent him to. This old man knew Suteko; he knew Sam heard voices and had dreams; he knew everything that would indicate he was on their side and yet, something bothered Sam.
“Come on, Samuel! Tell me where.”
“What is the name of the business on your card?”
“My card?”
“Yes, the card I got from Suteko about you. The name of the business that is on your name plate at your apartment.”
“Lives are at stake, boy. Tell me now.”
There was a distinct growl in his final words. Sam took a step back as the man’s facial features shifted. It was slight, but to Sam, his face looked like the moment an old television loses its signal while changing channels.
A gnarly hand reached from within the man’s sleeve. A second later, the hand was on Sam’s shoulder. Making use of a pressure point, the old man had Sam instantly on his knees.
Sam instinctively threw himself backward, managing to escape the man’s thumbs. Sam continued his fall to the ground behind him but instead of losing control, his hands found a firm foundation. With a twist, Sam flung his legs around, sweeping the old man’s legs out from under him.
The old man fell backward, but did not hit dirt. He arched his back in a way that resembled a Slinky toy. His momentum accelerated and shifted from his legs to arms and then back again. The man seemed elastic, lengthening and contracting at will. With a strong push off the ground, the attacker was—in a moment—standing erect again.
Sam stood unmoving and dazed. No one can move like that—least of all an old man.
The elastic man with a bowler hat grabbed Sam’s throat, giving Sam no time to respond.
“You will tell me where the others are!”
Sam felt his feet arch up as he struggled to keep his footing. The man’s arm was exceedingly strong and yet appeared so thin, old, and fragile.
“Where!?” The hand began to tighten its grip.
“Others?” Sam’s voice was little more than a whisper.
“The Temporal—Where?”
The arm lifted Sam completely off the ground. Choking and unable to get oxygen to his brain, Sam began to black out. His arms were useless, but as the blackness crept over his eyes, his ears caught some outside noise.
Chapter 18
WASHINGTON DC
Agent Cobbs was a tough man. He worked out three days a week and was down at the shooting range the other four. He had spent some time on the border dealing with smugglers, kidnappers, and the average poor Mexican or Peruvian wanting a better life. He prided himself that he never gave up until commanded to. His subordinates feared him. Failure was never an option—even if it was by his unyielding standards that made that failure inevitable. Still, he nearly always got the job done and was highly regarded by most of his colleagues at the Immigration and Naturalization Service and then later, Homeland Security.
His cell rang while he was out walking his dogs. His only family were these two terriers. Cobbs liked terriers—small dogs that think they can take big dogs. The call was from his secretary saying he had to report to the office securely and immediately.
He had been in Washington for some six years now. He couldn’t get used to the bureaucracy and politics inherent to the region. He missed the field. He was a man of action—not of words, papers, and political correctness.
Thanking his secretary, he turned around and headed home. At the perimeter of his property, he knelt down and unleashed the dogs. They knew their boundaries and followed him directly to the front door, ignoring the temptations of the big world around them.
Dropping the leashes in a container just inside the door, Cobbs poured a small glass of straight Bacardi before heading to his office.
The phone on his desk was connected to a Voice Over IP box that securely connected to his boss’ office. It was only used in case of emergencies and when discussing highly sensitive matters.
Setting down his empty glass, he pressed a button indicating to his superiors that he was available and waiting for their communication.
Moments later, the speaker beeped and a man’s voice came on line.
“Cobbs, there is a situation at MSY. We need you on the next plane to New Orleans.”
The Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport, MSY, was very familiar to Cobbs. He had grown up in New Orleans and had always considered it his home even though he had moved away four decades before.
“What kind of situation?”
“A Japanese woman holding a faked US passport escaped custody when some security types pulled her away for questioning.”
“What? Did she kill someone?”
“No. She vanished.”
“Yeah, she got away, but why call me?”
“No, Cobbs, she literally vanished into thin air. She was there about to be cuffed for not answering their questions and a moment later she was... gone.”
Cobbs suppressed a laugh but let a silent smile fill his face. There was a faction among the higher-ups who didn’t like him. They thought he had been promoted too often and too fast. Washington politics leaned toward cronyism rather tha
n meritocracy and Cobbs was sure someone would love to see a blot on his otherwise pristine résumé.
“Maybe these officers had a bit too much to drink?”
“There were dozens of witnesses. I’m sending the details to your PDA now including eTickets for a flight in an hour. Get your ass on that plane.”
Cobbs dropped the smile. “I love you, too.”
★
Cobbs landed at the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport a little under three hours after the call. The head of security was waiting for him as he walked out of the ticket gate. The man was tall and lanky and wore a standard airport security uniform. A wisp of shirt hung untucked over the belt on his left hip.
“The name’s Smith and boy am I glad you’re here. We think there was a man with her. We chased him, but he had too great of a head start and got away.”
“You mean, he did a disappearing act too?”
“No, I mean, he escaped, but not like the girl. She literally disappeared before my very eyes,” he said, jabbing two fingers toward his eyes. “...in thin air.”
“Have you gone through the video footage?”
“Ah, no,” Smith said, tucking in his shirt and trying his best to pretend this wasn’t an oversight. “I, we decided to wait for you before doing anything that could impede your investigation.”
Investigation... Why do they do this to me? Agent Cobbs was now certain his bosses were trying to make him look bad. It is just this sort of misunderstanding that could really mess up a career.
“All right. Get me to the video surveillance room.”
“Right this way, sir.”
Smith spoke into a microphone inside his cuff, alerting security that they were coming and to have someone cueing the video feeds to when the woman escaped.
★
Cobbs looked around the surveillance room. It looked like it was decked out with the highest high-tech equipment available—from the 1980s. The monitors were all CRT—tiny and heavy. A few of them actually had color images. The room smelled of burnt dust and... cheese. A slightly heavy-set man was sitting in a swivel chair munching on some cheese curls while waiting for Cobbs to initiate the conversation.
“Are there cameras in the area where she disappeared?”
“Yes, sir. That was in customs,” the man said as he placed the snack bag aside and licked his fingers. The technician then swiveled toward the computer keyboard and completed the thought, “It is actually the most heavily covered area in the airport. We have three camera angles. I’ll display all three and synchronize them to the timeline.”
“Good. Show me the moment she… disappeared.”
Despite the antiqued feel to the room, the deft operator, once free of cheese curls, was able to quickly pull up the incident. Three monitors came to life. Each monitor showed a room with weary travelers waiting their turn. As the video progressed, the man pointed a fat finger at an Asian woman.
It was as Smith said. She was there about to be taken to a room for holding and then she wasn’t. There was no jerky motion or change in position of the people around the woman. The video didn’t appear to have been tampered with. Or if it had been, the prankster had done an impressively good job within an impossibly short amount of time. There were three angles to work with, and each had varying distances and covered over two dozen people.
“Hold it. Go back.” Cobbs was particularly interested in camera number one. Camera number two had her back and the third camera was too far away to catch any detail. “Can you replay that at half speed?”
The operator obeyed. Cobbs saw nothing different at half speed. She was there and then she wasn’t.
“Okay, let’s go frame by frame and zoom in on her location with camera number one. What’s the frames per second?”
“Only fifteen. Sorry.”
Cobbs watched as one frame had her standing with her right arm crooked and her head facing the camera. Zoomed in, the image wasn’t the sharpest, but the woman’s features could be clearly seen. The next frame showed an empty space where the woman had been standing.
“Go back and forth between those frames.”
The people around her registered virtually no change, but she somehow had vanished completely.
“Hold it. Look at camera number three. Frame one, please.”
Agent Cobbs examined the screen. The camera was too far for details, but he could see her crooked arm and the side of her face.
“Do you want me to zoom in?”
“No, I want to see the wide angle as is,” Cobbs said with his eyes glued to monitor number three. “Frame two.”
Smith felt a sudden flash of heat as he realized what Agent Cobbs had discovered.
“She is still there. Isn’t she, Agent Cobbs?”
“Yes, Smith. Yes, she is.”
It was a faint blur and at least five feet away from her original position, but there was her shadow. The shadow of a woman with hair in mid-lift from running.
“This is impossible,” said an incredulous Smith.
“Impossible and yet you witnessed it and are seeing it replayed now. Somehow, within one fifteenth of a second she moved five feet. Next frame.”
The operator obeyed, unable to speak from surprise.
“And another one fifteenth of a second she moved about fifteen feet. Look there. She’s accelerating.” Cobbs pointed to a small section of the screen just at the edge of the third camera’s view. “There is a human-shaped blur there. It is even lighter than the previous frame.”
Cobbs put a heavy hand on the operator’s shoulder.
“You say she was with a man?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Show me.”
Tapping on the keyboard, the man at the computer managed to push the video back two minutes before the woman had vanished. The man was talking to the woman. By their interactions, it was clear they were together.
“Hold it. Zoom in on camera number one. Get his face.”
Cobbs held his hand flat in front of the heavy-set man at the computer indicating he wanted to keep the video frame as is. He just stood there staring, memorizing the man and woman’s features.
“Print me a picture of their faces.”
Handing the operator a card with a FTP drop box login information on it, he said, “Upload all the video feeds to here. I think you have found something... interesting.”
Chapter 19
NEW YORK CITY
In an instant, Sam was free from his attacker’s grip and on the ground coughing. His hands flew to his throat trying to massage precious air into his dry lungs.
What was that?
From the side of his eye, Sam saw what had caused the man to let go of his throat. Another old man—strikingly similar in appearance—was attacking the first old man. He couldn’t work out who was winning the fight, but they seemed to be more or less equally matched.
Pulling himself upright, Sam watched as the attacker gripped the second man’s throat and began to lift him off the ground as he had so easily done to Sam. Sam knew he had to get out of there, but something compelled him to stay and watch. He wanted to help his savior, but that man now seemed as helpless as he had been before the assailant.
Instead of resisting, the stranger, while being held up by the attacker’s fist, pulled a small object out of his pocket.
A light, a flame! So bright in the darkening twilight.
For whatever reason, the light repelled the attacker in an instant. The flame caused the man to falter, let loose of his prey, and fall backwards shielding his eyes with bony arms and hands.
Sam opened his eyes after an abnormally heavy blink. Sam was no longer seeing two men. The aged wrinkles of the first attacker gave way to silky smooth, yet pale skin. The bowler hat was gone and in its place, wild bright red hair was flying loose in nearly every direction.
Sam’s original attacker was now a woman.
Her face seemed even more threatening than it had been as an old man. Her lips were pulled b
ack, baring clenched and grinding teeth as she hissed curses at the old man. Wretchedly evil, her wide eyes betrayed a sense of having let slip a deep secret.
Stunned by the absurdity of what had just happened, Sam just stood there.
“Kaileen?” Sam heard his savior say. At the sound of that name, the attacker shook her head and with a desperate look, dropped to the ground, and disappeared into the darkness as if she was nothing more than a pile of leaves blown away by the wind.
After another blink, Sam saw that the attacker had vanished completely. His savior, the other old man, was approaching him with an arm extended. Sam’s eyes were blurred, but he got his first good look at the man. Sam’s first impression had been correct. This old man bore a remarkable resemblance to the woman’s appearance before she had attacked him.
“Can you stand?”
Sam didn’t quite catch the meaning of the words; everything was muffled.
“Can you stand, Sam?” the man repeated.
“Yeah. I think so.”
Sam took the man’s arm and felt his body move in an upward motion until he was on his own two feet.
“Come,” the man said curtly. His face was hard; some great concern weighed heavily upon him.
Sam watched as the man turned without further comment and headed back to the apartment. To anyone having not witnessed what just occurred, he would seem to be simply an old man taking an evening stroll with slow but steady steps.
Not sure what to do, Sam obeyed, following without a word.
Once they reached the apartments, Sam decided he should risk a question.
“Just what is happening? Who was that back there?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” replied the old man.
“Wait. You can’t just order me around without some sort of explanation.”
“Quiet and follow me.”
Sam’s sour look was ignored by the old man who simply continued walking. Sam shrugged, shook his head, and then followed behind him. They entered an enclosed stairway and the old man took to the first step. Sam jumped in front of him, stopping his climb.
