by Walker, Rysa
My brain tells my finger to click the damn button.
But my brain is apparently not in control.
FROM THE NEW YORK DAILY INTREPID
SECURITY OFFICER KILLED IN ATTACK ON
JAPANESE AMBASSADOR
(June 3, 1939) A security officer was killed at the World’s Fair yesterday while in pursuit of masked gunmen who fired on Japanese Ambassador Kensuke Horinouchi.
Just prior to the attack, Horinouchi watched as the Torch of Friendship was lit by a flame that Miss Japan, Akiko Tsukimoto, transported from the Grand Shrine of Izumo across the Pacific Ocean and then from California to New York, taking great care that it was not extinguished.
Ambassador Horinouchi stated, “The Japanese people symbolize their ardent hope that the glorious tradition of peace and amity between America and Japan will remain as bright and eternal as the temple fire at Izumo.” Moments later, the ceremony ended as 150 doves were released celebrating the enduring peace between our nations.
As the sound of wings filled the air, a shot rang out. Grover Whalen, head of the New York World’s Fair Committee, was injured slightly when he dove forward to shield the ambassador. Two guards hired by the Fair Committee pursued the shooter, who fled toward the Flushing Gate. Shots were fired, and one of the guards was killed.
Ambassador Horinouchi was unharmed aside from a mildly singed arm when the Torch of Friendship toppled, catching the bunting surrounding the podium on fire. Luckily, the torch was not extinguished.
Police are questioning several groups across the political spectrum, including Brother Charles Coughlin’s Universal Front, which was holding a protest outside the gates shortly before the attack, and members of the Communist Party of America, who protested the event due to Japan’s ongoing war with China.
∞28∞
TYSON
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
SEPTEMBER 12, 1939
It’s not even close to the lamest virtual reality I’ve experienced, but for this era, the Theater of Time and Space is impressive. Not the building itself. It’s barely finished and seems more like a warehouse than a theater. The seating leaves a lot to be desired, too, since we’re packed into every available space on the bleachers. But the curved screens are a huge innovation. They cover the entirety of the back wall and about one-third of the walls on the right and left. While the popping-flashbulb effect when you go to what I guess is supposed to be hyperspeed is kind of cheesy, combined with the music and the camera angles, it works. They’ve done a decent job of blocking the light from the Amusement Zone outside, and once the film starts, it does kind of feel like you’re flying through space, if you can avoid looking around you.
Of course, Richard and I can’t avoid looking around us. We’re keeping an eye on the two Japanese men one row down and just to our left. They speak quietly several times as the show begins, but it’s mostly in Japanese and probably about the exhibit, since they’re pointing at the screen.
When the show ends, Tomonaga and his friend exit on the left. Rich and I follow. If we can intercept them inside the building, we stand less chance of being spotted by Team Viper and Leon Josephson, who are only a few buildings away.
“Mr. Tomonaga? Shin’ichirō Tomonaga?”
The taller of the two men turns and nods his head. Richard flips open the badge that RJ printed. “Agent Mulder, and this is my partner, Agent Scully.” I pull out my badge as well. Personally, I would have gone with names that weren’t quite so odd, but that’s what the badge says, so we’re kind of stuck. RJ’s handiwork seems to be decent, though. We waved it at the ticket taker when we came in, told him that we were going to be questioning two individuals—two nonviolent individuals—and asked whether there was a back door we could use if necessary. He’d happily shown us the exit at the rear of the building.
“FBI?” the friend says, looking confused.
“Federal Bureau of Investigation. Kind of like the police. We’ve had a report of some suspicious activity . . .”
Both men look a bit confused.
“We have done something wrong?” Tomonaga asks.
“No, no,” I say. “It’s just that we received a report that an agent of the Russian government may be targeting you with some disinformation.”
They both nod. The second guy says, “We have documents,” and reaches into his breast pocket.
“That’s okay,” Richard says. “We don’t need them.”
The men seem confused, and I think we may be tapping the limits of their English skills. I bring out the tablet, open the translation tool, and Rich proceeds to explain we have information that an agent of the Soviet Union is planning to contact Tomonaga, posing as an American citizen, to give him false information that the United States is currently testing atomic weapons.
As we feared, the two men seem more interested in the tablet than in what we’re trying to tell them, especially once it translates Rich’s speech into Japanese.
Tomonaga says something in his language, which the tablet translates as “But why do they come to me? I am not a person who does weapons. And why tell Japan at all?”
“Maybe they assume that you will understand the atomic component and know who should be contacted,” Richard says. “We think their goal is for your government to waste resources on research that Professor Heisenberg, with whom I believe you studied recently, considers impractical. President Roosevelt believes that Japan is currently a valuable counterbalance against the USSR and instructed Director Hoover to send us here to caution you. The spy will most likely claim to be a friend of Japan, and he will be accompanied by a man wearing an eye patch.”
“Ah, aipatchi,” Tomonaga says. The men look at each other and nod. “We see him at dinner.”
“How did you discover the plan of this spy?” the other man asks. He seems a bit more wary than Tomonaga.
I reach forward and tap the edge of the tablet. “This also functions as a code breaker. Neat little gadget.” I can tell that they definitely agree on that point.
Richard pauses for a moment, and then adds, “The US government is planning to have these on military ships and planes by the end of 1941. Personally, I can’t see why it would take that long, but hey, I’d work slow, too, if I was stationed somewhere I could go to Waikiki Beach during the off-hours, you know?”
The translator does its thing, and then the other two men smile and nod.
“How does it work?” Tomonaga asks.
That’s a question neither of us is really equipped to field, so I just smile and shake my head. “I’m not a scientist. To me, it’s magic, just like that television thing they’re debuting over at the main fairgrounds. Listen, they may be planning to make their move when you leave here. We’d be happy to escort you out the back and to the subway station if you’d like.”
Tomonaga says they would appreciate that, and we make our way to the rear exit of the theater, where a door opens onto a grassy area behind this strip of buildings. The entrance to the Independent Subway station is visible as soon as we step out the door. Less than five minutes later, the two men are on the train, with no sign of a single member of Team Viper.
“That felt . . . too easy,” I tell Rich as we look for an unobtrusive place to blink out.
“I knew you were going to say that. You’re such a pessimist. How about we take the easy win and move on? Because you know our luck isn’t going to hold.”
“And you say I’m the pessimist?”
∞
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
JUNE 2, 1939
Our luck does, however, seem to be holding. When we arrive at our stable point near the Fountain Lake gate at 1:20 p.m. on June 2nd, we find the usual cluster of Universal Front thugs protesting as they have been most days since the Fair opened in May. If security chases them away from one gate, they just head to the next, and they’ve been such a steady presence that the police aren’t paying much attention to them unless they get rowdy and start actually harassing the paying guests.
Most of them disperse, grumbling. I’ve watched them through the key on several occasions when the World’s Fair Police have tried to urge them along, and there’s usually a bit more pushback. They seem more inclined to listen when you’re holding an FBI badge.
The young man who is planning to enter the Fair and take the shot at the ambassador is one of the last to leave. As he walks off toward the parking lot, I see his hand move toward his jacket.
“Stop!” I whip my pistol out of the shoulder holster. “Hands behind your head. Right now.”
I give the gun to Rich and tell him to cover me. He gives me a look of horror. “Now I’m wishing I’d kept the Timex,” he whispers.
“Wouldn’t matter. Too many people around to use it.” He takes my gun and I cross over to the UF guy. “Keep your hands up. Just so you know, your boss was paying two other people, in case you chickened out. They both folded like paper airplanes when we took them in for questioning this morning, so unless you want to be the only one in prison, you might want to think about doing the same.”
“Piss off,” he says as I take his gun.
Rich snorts. “Tough guy now, but a few weeks in the pen usually fixes that.”
We’ve drawn attention from the security guard outside the ticket booth. “I already called the WFP,” he yells, keeping his distance. “They’re on their way.”
Rich shouts back that we’re FBI.
“Really? No one mentioned that we had federal agents on the premises today.”
“Someone reported a threat against the Japanese ambassador,” Rich says.
“Yeah,” I say. “We’re going to have to hand him over to you, though, because we’ve got somewhere else to be.”
“Me?” The guard looks stunned. “I’m not regular police. I’m just in a uniform to keep kids from comin’ through without a ticket. No handcuffs. No weapon.”
“Easy fix for that.” I hand him the guy’s gun. “I think you’ll find that this was stolen. Tell the WFP we’ll be back before nightfall, if they can hold him until then.”
Rich shoots me a questioning look. Which is fair. I have no idea if the gun is stolen, just as I have no idea if there were other people tasked with shooting the ambassador if this one failed to follow through. It’s a bluff, but it’s the one thing that came to mind that might get them to hold the man for a bit. By the time they realize we’re not coming back, Ambassador Horinouchi will no longer be on the fairgrounds.
We leave the guard in charge, then hurry toward the gate and duck behind a bank of cypress trees. By prior agreement, I open the stable point at the Court of Peace and Rich pulls up the location in the library in 2136. I scan through the Japan Day ceremony. No shooting. Grover Whalen, head of the World’s Fair Committee, doesn’t get to play hero by shielding the ambassador. The Flame of Friendship or whatever it’s called is never in danger, and the ambassador is ushered from the stage and over to his waiting car at the end of the event.
Rich confirms this based on the message on the library wall screen. “Two check marks now, but no time shift. I was really hoping this would flip the timeline,” he says. “That maybe Einstein was just icing on the cake.”
“Would have been nice,” I say. “Are you going to the apartment now or straight to the library?”
“Library. I want to make sure we’ve actually reversed these two events, and for that, I’m going to need a public data system. I’d also like to make sure that Thea enters the moves correctly. Are you going to wait until Madi is done or head straight to Madison Square Garden?”
I pull up the stable point on the ground floor of the arena. The same scene unfolds, exactly as before. I could wait and see if Madi’s move undoes these deaths, but it seems far more likely that this is something Saul screwed up. Might as well get a head start on our next hopeless task.
And this is personal for me. I see too many parallels between my own experience at CHRONOS and the path Dennis has followed. I want him to make the right choice and refuse to be part of the bomb hoax.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Rich asks, but I can tell he knows the answer.
“Thanks, but I’ll meet you there shortly. First, I need to go play Ghost of Christmas Future.”
FROM THE NEW YORK DAILY INTREPID
CITIZEN EINSTEIN
(June 22, 1940) World-renowned scientist Dr. Albert Einstein passed the test for US citizenship today “with flying colors.” He was tested along with his daughter, Margot, his secretary, Helen Dukas, and twenty other prospective citizens.
For years, Einstein and Hitler have represented two sides of the German spirit. Hitler embodies brute force and domination, while Einstein has come to symbolize intellect and the curiosity that pushes mankind toward great scientific achievement. In his rise to power, Hitler drove out men like Einstein and his fellow refugee Thomas Mann. It is a testament to our principles of freedom, democracy, and equality that these great men should not merely seek shelter on our shores but choose to become part of the great American experiment.
∞29∞
MADI
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
JULY 4, 1940
“You look good as a redhead,” Clio says, tugging the wig into place.
The color is really more of a strawberry blonde, and not dramatically different from my own shade, but with subtle waves and tucked rolls that scream 1940s.
“We really should have done your hair into a tighter knot,” she says as she adjusts the hairline.
That gives me a shudder. I already feel like my chin is stretched clear to my cheekbones. Aside from a cheap costume wig I wore one year at Halloween, I’ve never actually worn one of these torture devices. I’d prefer not to wear one now, but I doubt we can count on Team Viper to abide by the agreement not to target the four of us after Saul’s grisly little stunt. Tyson and Rich have an advantage in that they’re both relatively average build and height in an era where the vast majority of men wear some variant of the standard uniform—dark suit and hat. All they had to do was dress as usual and blend in with the crowd. And apparently, it worked . . . at least for their first objective. When we scanned the stable point where Tomonaga and his friend were attacked, they never arrive. Leon Josephson, Other-Saul, and the third man just stand there, looking bored as they watch the people on the midway for two Japanese tourists. Next, we checked the wall screen in 2136, and it now reads:
Tomonaga mugging averted
Clio says she’d feel better if we had some word about the July 4th bombing, but Katherine has only been gone for a short time.
My scalp wasn’t itchy at all until it was encased in the wig. I grab one of the hairpins from the dresser and try to scratch, but it’s a lost cause. Hopefully, I’ll get used to it. “I’ll be so glad when this is over, and I can just go back to adding my normal streak of blue down one side and be done with it.”
I can see Clio’s face in the mirror. Her lip pulls down slightly on one side when I mention the accent streak, and I have to laugh. She’s curiously old fashioned in some ways, which shouldn’t surprise me at all, given that she was born in 1913. But it still catches me off guard every now and then. “There,” she says. “You’re all set. You just need to get your coquettish side going. Think Marilyn . . . Monroe.” She flinches slightly when she says the name. “And you probably have no idea who she is.”
“I have a vague mental image of a woman in a white dress. And I know she was married to the guy who wrote Death of a Salesma
n. Arthur—”
“Miller. Yes.”
“Plus, you mentioned her before. You said Simon was obsessed with her. Speaking of Simon, have you told your father that he’s gone yet?”
Clio shakes her head. “I need to. But I haven’t really had a moment alone with him, and . . . it’s not the thing I’d want to tell him in a room full of people. I should probably tell him here, though, rather than at home. He’s going to have the same wildly mixed feelings that I did, and he’ll have a harder time than I did admitting that the news makes him a bit sad, too. I doubt he’d admit it at all in front of Mom. We didn’t even tell her I was babysitting Simon, because just thinking about the guy could give her the shakes. Aunt June said she had a touch of PTSD, which wasn’t even a thing back when I was born or now, and it’s not like she could go talk things out with a therapist anyway. Simon never hurt her physically, but keeping someone prisoner for six months or so is bound to leave them with some damage. If she’d known he was doing something similar with me . . .”
Clio shakes it off. “We need to get you on your way to the Fair so you can charm the good professor. I’ll meet you in 2136, and we’ll both feel that nasty stomach lurch from the time shift, but this time we’ll be happy to feel it because it will mean that this is over. You can do this, okay?”
Her chipper tone seems very much out of place. I’m pretty sure she knows even if we do feel the time shift, it won’t really be over. Team Viper will still be here. Until we find a way to block them, they’ll just go break something else, and I doubt they’ll give us much time to regroup before striking. Plus, Saul will still be a rogue element, and the new timeline probably won’t be exactly like the one we know. No point in reminding her of that, though. Instead, I just note that she’s in a very optimistic mood.
Clio responds with a shaky grin. “Mostly because I’m scared. Aunt June always said the best way of dealing with fear was through positive affirmations. Which I think is something she got from the Cyrists, but . . . not all of their ideas are bad. So . . . this is me, positively affirming. But I do think you can fix this. Really.”
