Valentines Day

by Bob Mayer

  I don’t think so.

  The Mission Phase V

  Chicago, 14 February 1929 A.D.

  Strings was the first to act on Fate’s proclamation, shifting his aim and firing four times, two bullets at each target.

  Adam Heyer and Albert Weinshank dropped unceremoniously to the pitted concrete floor.

  “Over halfway there,” Strings announced. He’d lost his Chicago gangster and was speaking with a strange accent, as if English was not his primary language. He aimed at Moms. “That is a compromise on my part. Now your turn to compromise. Tell me what I want, and some of your Team can go home.”

  “Why?” Moms said to the Fates. “Why do there have to be seven dead?”

  “It is what it is,” Atropos said. “The scales must be balanced inside the bubble. We did not make this. But we will confirm it.”

  “If you didn’t make it,” Moms asked, “who did?”

  They didn’t answer.

  Strings looked at Moms. “I just helped you. Tell me what I want to know and most of your team can get out of here alive.”

  “What’s with them?” Moms asked, indicating Accardo and Giancana.

  Both gangsters were frozen, the field the Fates had propagated simmering around them.

  “They are not part of this,” Clotho said. “It is between you. The Shadow and the Patrol. It is the choices you have made and will make.

  “They’re not part of the decision-making,” Moms indicated Accardo and Giancana, “but why don’t we kill them?”

  “I second that,” Scout said. “Let’s kill the psychopaths.”

  “I think it’s a good idea,” Ivar added.

  Roland stirred, opened his eyes, took in the scenario, didn’t say anything, glaring at Strings. Roland was always good at quickly sizing up a situation and focusing on the enemy. His muscles bulged as he worked on the ropes.

  “We can’t,” Eagle said. He relied on more than just the download. He had his tremendous memory and his study of history readily available. “Accardo eventually runs the Outfit; the Chicago mob. He expands their power beyond Chicago into Vegas and the entire western United States.”

  “So he’s a bad guy,” Scout said.

  “Yes,” Eagle agreed. “Except think of how many people and events he affects? He dies now, it will be a ripple that would probably be a cascade.”

  “Or he’s a murdering asshole no one will miss,” Scout said.

  “And Giancana?” Moms asked.

  “Worse,” Eagle said. “He shared a mistress, Judith Exner, with John F. Kennedy. Some say he directed the Outfit, at Joe Kennedy’s request and bribe, to throw the 1960 Presidential election in Chicago, and thus Illinois, to Kennedy. That doesn’t happen? What if Kennedy never becomes President? Definitely a cascade. Kennedy also approached Accardo about assassinating Castro.”

  “We have to kill someone?” Roland asked, eager for action, and behind the situation; which was not abnormal. He was still working the ropes; Roland could double-task on some things.

  “But haven’t we already caused a ripple,” Doc said, “with them being here? Seeing us?”

  Lachesis answered. “They will remember nothing of this. And, as noted, their fates are set and their thread will not be cut today. They are not a variable here.”

  Ivar and Doc exchanged a glance at that last sentence.

  “And him?” Moms indicated Clark who wasn’t covered by the field and isolated between the two groups.

  “Hey!” Clark protested. “Al told me about the set up. He promised me I could walk.”

  “That’s not in the history,” Eagle noted.

  “Yeah,” Scout said. “Probably because this jerk double-crossed Moran with Capone and then Capone triple-crossed him and he got whacked.”

  “Well?” Moms asked the Fates.

  “His thread is cut today,” Atropos said.

  “Al promised me!” Clark said.

  “And you’ll haunt him for the rest of his life,” Doc said. “Your spirit won’t find peace until he is dead. This won’t be your forever death. Not yet.”

  “What the hell?” Clark said.

  “Enough!” Strings yelled and then he fired, the round hitting Clark directly between the eyes, producing a small black hole. The exit wound, however, was a fountain of blood, bone and brains.

  The German Shepherd whimpered and crawled further under the truck.

  “Now we are down to only two have to die,” Strings said. “A small sacrifice.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Scout said.

  Moms turned to the three Fates. “When this bubble collapses, what happens?”

  Clotho fielded that. “If there are seven dead, as should be, all will be as it would have been. As soon as the seventh death occurs, you will all go back through your respective Gates. This bubble collapses.”

  Scout indicated Giancana and Accardo. “My vote is we whack those two guys.”

  “I have told you,” Clotho said. “They are not part of this.”

  “If the bomb goes off,” Scout said, “they’re a dead variable.”

  “If the bomb goes off,” Lachesis said, “they will not be harmed. The blast will be contained inside this bubble, excluding them. We are done here. You will be released when what has been written is what is.”

  The three Fates faded out and were gone.

  “Gee, thanks,” Scout said. “That was fraking helpful. Not.”

  Eagle spoke to Strings. “Legion?”

  “No,” Strings said.

  “Sparta?” Moms asked, referring to the timeline ruled by Sparta that was in thrall to the Shadow, trading warriors for existence.

  Strings straightened up, almost coming to attention. “Backhos, son of Hesiod. Twenty-third of my agoge to be sent to serve.”

  “Is that a bomb?” Roland asked, trying to catch up. With a snap, the rope parted and he was free. He stood up, flexing, readying for action.

  “It is,” Moms said, “and he has a dead man’s switch. And the gun.”

  That Roland could process instantly. He gathered up his cutlass and boarding axe.

  “But he’s only got one bullet left,” Scout noted. “Since the slide isn’t back, indicating he’s out of ammo, then he had one in the chamber and a full mag. Now he’s down to one in the chamber. Nothing in the mag.”

  Roland smiled at Scout, giving her an A in weaponology.

  Scout went to Eagle and began untying him.

  “What are you doing?” Backhos demanded.

  “Duh,” Scout said. “What’s it look like? You going to spend your last bullet on me? Do it and Moms and Roland and Ivar will take you out.”

  Backhos took a step back, assessing his tactical situation, pistol in one hand, clacker in the other. “I have the bomb.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Scout said, going to Doc. “Blow us all up. That’s the smart solution. Got seven bodies and more then. No one goes back. And if you were gonna do that, you would have done it. So you don’t want to do that. That’s not your mission. You’re here for information. Your boss, the Shadow, whoever the frak that is, put a lot of time and energy into setting this up. Could have killed all of us much easier; sent us through Gates into a volcano or something.” She paused as a thought struck her. “But maybe it can’t do that? Maybe the Fates won’t allow something so simple?”

  “The Fates are meddling trouble-makers,” Backhos said. “No one knows why they do what they do.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Scout said. “But you want that info. Which means old Shadow, whoever or whatever that is, is getting desperate. You want to attack the Time Patrol directly. Killing the Team isn’t enough. You got to take out the entire place.”

  “I believe,” Ivar said, “that the Shadow has already taken out a Time Patrol team. The team before us. And it changed nothing.”

  “Except for the Team that got taken out,” Scout pointed out.

  Eagle was nodding. “We’ve been too successful, haven’t we?”

  Backhos s
hrugged. “I need the information. That’s all I know.”

  “Just following orders?” Scout asked.

  Roland had axe and cutlass at the ready. Eagle was moving to the side, spreading the team out.

  “Six to one,” Moms said.

  “My contingency,” Backhos said, “is to kill this Team. That will be satisfactory to the ledger between my people and the Shadow. I do this for the greater good of my people. For Sparta.”

  *****

  LARA:

  The songs are all that can get through.

  I know that without knowing why I know that, which is pretty much the screwed up way I know a lot of things. Like I know the word fetid.

  Really? Where did I hear that?

  The problem, the thing that scares me worse than scared can be, is that I know for certain this isn’t a dream.

  This is real, real.

  I’ve got to help the team.

  I take a step. Of my own volition, toward that door.

  Another.

  I don’t think so.

  I do think so.

  Another.

  I’m there. I reach up. My hand is shaking. Even in this, I can’t appear brave? Resolute?

  There it is, another word. Where did I get that one from? Was that in Moms’ corny speech about manning the wall and all that other stuff?

  Yeah, yeah, I can live with that.

  Probably die with it too.

  I push the door open. It swings both ways. How come I never focused on that before?

  A couple of inches. I peek inside.

  Oh My God!

  I don’t think so.

  *****

  “Until when?” Moms asked.

  Backhos frowned. “What?”

  “Until when?” Moms repeated. “Will Sparta serve the Shadow forever? What happens if the Shadow is successful and no longer needs your timeline’s service? The better you fight, the quicker your people, your timeline, will be annihilated.”

  “I do as my King orders,” Backhos said.

  “I fought with a Spartan king,” Scout said. “King Leonidas.”

  “Leonidas fought many battles,” Backhos said.

  “I was at his side at Thermopylae,” Scout said.

  “In my timeline,” Backhos said, “no Spartan survived Thermopylae.”

  “None did in our timeline either,” Scout said. “I’m not a Spartan. But Leonidas, and his men, sacrificed themselves. So that I could fulfill my mission. He was a Spartan King. I can’t see him bowing his head to the Shadow.”

  “Leonidas was a great King,” Backhos allowed. “But that doesn’t matter. In the end we lost to the Shadow and have done what we need to in order to live. I have my orders.”

  “Geez,” Scout muttered. “He’s your kind of guy, Roland.”

  *****

  LARA:

  A man is standing in there, a knife in his hand, blood dripping from the blade.

  I’m not too late like I thought before. I will be never be too late for this room and this man. He will always be in there waiting for me. There will always be blood dripping from his blade.

  He is Joey, from the diner in Boise. He is Legion, from the Fifth Floor.

  He is death.

  “Where you going, kid?”

  There are bodies on the floor, but I know they’re not my family. The family I never had. I don’t want to know who they are; whose blood drips from his blade.

  He points over his shoulder to the front door and whatever is beyond it. “You wanna go that way? Go ahead.”

  He will kill me. He’s designed to kill. It is his only purpose.

  I know all those things as surely as I know anything, which isn’t much, but, okay, more than I know most things.

  I know he will kill me.

  “You’re all alone, kid,” he says, smiling.

  The team.

  But I can’t.

  I am alone.

  I want to. I want to. But it’s like when I want to wake up from the dream.

  I can’t.

  I need a dream line. A thread to grab hold of.

  I hear the songs and there is a vision: the team, in a garage, with others.

  That is enough for me to understand the situation; how it all hangs in the balance.

  I have to go past Joey, through the front door.

  And then further.

  I can’t do it.

  I just can’t.

  I hear a whine.

  He, Joey, hears it too. He’s confused.

  A dog.

  A dog?

  There was a dog.

  There is a dog.

  *****

  “I do have one bullet left,” Backhos said. “But that will not be enough to release the hold the Fates have placed on us.”

  “Then you’re screwed,” Scout said.

  “No,” Backhos said. “You are. Even if you kill me, there is the bomb. And there is the hold. One more must die for you to escape. That cannot be argued with or changed.”

  Roland strode up to Giancana and swung the boarding axe. It hit the field around the gangster and bounced off, causing no damage.

  “I took the old women at their word,” Backhos said. “They are the Fates.”

  “Why are they interfering?” Moms asked.

  Backhos shrugged. “They are not. They are making sure the scales are balanced.”

  “That’s bull,” Scout said. “The Shadow is trying to change history. To unbalance the scales. But the Fates only stick their nose in once in a while. Seems they would stop the Shadow all the time.”

  “Perhaps,” Backhos said. “I don’t pretend to understand the ways of the Gods.”

  “The Fates aren’t Gods,” Eagle said.

  “What are they then?” Backhos asked. “None of that matters. Tell me what I want to know or all will die. The Fates will be satisfied and the Time Patrol will all be dead.”

  *****

  Not all.

  “Come,” Joey waves the bloody knife at the front door. “Your friends need help.”

  He isn’t a good salesman, using that knife to point. I remember him cutting those pies in Boise. I should have paid better attention.

  Highball.

  Who names a dog after a drink?

  Scout?

  *****

  “We are also warriors,” Moms said. “We will die before we tell you anything that will harm our timeline. We both have the same thing at stake, except our timeline is fighting the Shadow. Yours is in thrall to it.”

  “Poor doggie,” Scout said, walking toward the truck and the cowering German Shepherd.

  “What are you doing?” Backhos demanded.

  “The dog is scared,” Scout said. She knelt next to Highball and untied the rope from around his neck. “There. Good boy.”

  “I will not yield,” Backhos said to Moms.

  Everyone was surprised when Scout began to hum. It took the other team members only a few seconds to understand.

  Moms was first to sing. “Roland was a warrior from the Land of the Midnight Sun.”

  Scout closed her eyes.

  Roland readied his weapons as Eagle and Doc joined Moms for the second line, none of them having a clue what Scout was doing. “With a Thompson gun for hire—“ and then the room slowed.

  For everyone but Scout, and Highball, because Scout’s hand was on his neck.

  “ f-i-g-h-t-i-n-g----- t—o-------- b---e-----------d----o----n----e.”

  Scout went for Backhos, Highball at her side. Backhos reacted, far too slow in the altered time sense, but faster than non-Spartan trained humans. But not as fast as a Legion, and Scout had managed to shoot one charging at her on her last mission.

  Scout’s hand clamped down on Backhos’ gun hand, jamming her thumb between the hammer and rear of the slide and shoving the aim away from Moms.

  Highball, Scout’s hand still on his neck, leapt. His teeth locked down on Backhos’ hand holding the clacker.

  “T-----h-----e---------- d
------e------a------l

  And then time resumed its normal cadence.

  “Was made—“

  They stopped singing as everyone took in the tableau. Highball’s teeth a vise on the hand and the clacker it held. Scout let go of Highball and ripped the gun out of Backhos’. She stepped back, gun in hand.

  “Everyone all right?”

  “How did you get the dog—“ Moms wondered.

  “I didn’t,” Scout said. “Lara did. She told me.”

  Backhos was in pain, but barely showed it, true Spartan to the end. “I can kill the dog.” He drew a dagger with his free hand. “And then we are back to—“

  He didn’t finish the statement as Scout fired. He died instantly.

  “We need to secure the clacker,” Moms said.

  “It is secured,” Scout said. “We’re still not out of this.”

  “One more death,” Doc said. “One more before we can go back.” He walked over to Giancana and Accardo. “They are off limits. So it must be one of us.”

  “Unacceptable,” Moms said.

  Highball’s growl was beginning to shift to a whine, but he was still holding the dead hand in his jaws.

  *****

  Let’s move it, people.

  I can’t keep this up forever.

  I can see Joey. He’s so smooth. He could have been a ballet dancer.

  How the frak do I know ballet? I’ve never been to one. Never seen one.

  He’s not going to kill me.

  How do I know that?

  Because killing would be too easy. He has something much worse in mind for me.

  Because the Shadow has something much worse for me.

  Come on, guys! Do something.

  I gotta get out of here.

  *****

  “Numbers,” Doc said. He picked up one of the discarded shotguns. “It is math and you cannot argue with math. Or fate.” He smiled sadly as he said the last. “More correctly, the Fates. They have decreed seven must die.”

  “No,” Moms said.

  “What are you doing?” Roland was concerned and a beat behind.

  Scout had her head cocked to the side. “We don’t have much time. Lara is in trouble. She’s holding the dog in place, but . . .”