by Steve Howrie
Time Leap. Science Fiction.
Copyright © Steve Howrie 2014
The right of Steve Howrie to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed or electronic reviews.
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Contents:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Other Books by Steve Howrie
One
(Heathrow Airport, London, 11 September 2014).
It all started with a business trip to New York…
“Thank you sir – and your belt please.”
I removed my black leather belt and placed it in a tray with my wallet, laptop and mobile phone (a birthday gift from Niki). Then a thought: I really should switch off my phone – it’s safer. You never know what these security scanners can do to electronic equipment. And that’s when I had my life–changing moment. Niki is always telling me I’m clumsy, and on this occasion she was dead right. As I hurriedly retrieved the phone to turn it off, it slipped from my fingers, hit the hard floor and fell into three pieces – phone, battery and cover.
Oh shit! I thought, which came out as “Sorry” as I picked up the bits. There was quite a queue building up behind me now and I felt rather flustered.
“Just give me that sir,” the official said calmly, as if this happens every day. I complied. She carefully added the phone to my tray and fed the whole lot into the security scanner.
Next, the body check. I wanted to say something funny like, ‘You’ll find nothing on me – the drugs are in my main suitcase,’ but thought better of it. The woman indicated the check was over, and I collected my laptop, wallet, belt and parts of my phone. I hate airports.
Finding a seat in the departure lounge, I sighed deeply, reassembled the phone and switched it on. Then the World suddenly ‘wobbled.’ I looked outside and noticed a large 737 American Airlines plane docking with the terminal. I guessed that was the cause of the wobble. This was the aircraft I’d be boarding in about thirty minutes time, or so I thought. I went to buy a newspaper.
The Independent – that’s my paper – sums me up I guess. I went straight to the financial news as usual. That’s strange, I thought, looking at the main headline: ‘Biggest US tax cuts since 1981 implemented by President Bush...’ George Bush? I looked at the date on the paper: 11 September 2001. It was a collectors’ item! I returned to the newsstand.
“Excuse me, it’s very interesting to read what happened thirteen years ago, but not so useful. Can you give me today’s edition please? The blonde girl looked surprised and studied the paper.”
“This is today’s paper… Tuesday September eleventh.”
“Yeah, but look at the year!”
“Two thousand and one,” she said.
“Exactly – it’s ancient!”
She looked puzzled. “This is today’s date… September eleventh, 2001. Are you all right?”
I looked at the other newspapers – and they all had the same date. I walked slowly back to my seat and checked the date on the newspaper again. What was going on? I pulled out my phone and noticed it showed exactly the same date as all the newspapers: 11th September, 2001. How could this be? I put the date on the phone back to the present, and again I felt this ‘wobble.’ Something had changed. I looked out of the large airport windows: the 737 that arrived a few minutes ago had vanished. I went back to find the newsstand. It looked very different now, and the young woman who served me before had gone. I spoke to an older lady in blue–rimmed glasses.
“Look, there’s something very strange going on… I don’t know if it’s a joke or a special promotion or what, but please tell me I’m not going crazy.”
“What’s the problem?” she asked.
“It’s this newspaper – it’s all the newspapers – they’re seriously out of date. They’ve been misprinted or something.”
“Let me see…” She studied the paper. “No, that’s definitely today’s issue – eleventh of September.”
“Yes, that’s what the other girl said…”
“What other girl?”
“The one I spoke to three minutes ago – right here...”
“There’s only me on this shift… I don’t know who you could have spoken to.”
“Okay, it doesn’t matter – just take at look at the year. Why does it say 2001?”
She looked at the paper with a puzzled frown. “It doesn’t… it says 2014.”
“What?” I grabbed the paper back. She was right – it was today’s newspaper, and so were all the others.
If this was what mental illness feels like, I didn’t like it. I went over things again: I dropped my phone, it broke into pieces. Then it went through the x–ray scanner. I reassembled the phone and September 2014 became September 2001. All the newspapers said the same date – 2001. I changed the phone’s date back to 2014, and the newspapers changed date as well! And what about the aircraft? It arrived, it disappeared. I changed the date to 2001 once more: wobble. The plane was back.
I didn’t understand how or why – but unless I was dreaming, this was mind–blowing. Then the significance of the date hit me: September the eleventh 2001 – ‘Nine–Eleven.’ The World Trade Center, New York City, was going to be attacked by terrorists that day! From my recollections, the first plane would hit the North Tower at 9am Eastern Standard Time… no, 8.45am. I knew that because I’d just arrived at work that day, and Emma had told me about an accident in New York City five minutes later. Right, 8.45am in New York is 1.45pm in London. What’s the time now? I checked the airport clocks: 10.57am. That means that in less than three hours time, there’s going to be a catastrophe – if nothing’s done to stop it. I had to tell Niki.
‘The number you have dialled has not been recognized – please check and try again later.’ I phoned again – same outcome. Then I realized that Niki would only be eighteen and still at school – and she almost certainly wouldn’t have the same mobile phone number. Where was her school? Hampstead, I recalled. I logged on to the airport’s Wi–Fi system (at least that was working in 2001) and searched for North London secondary schools. Bingo! I found the number and called the school.
“Hello, I wonder if I can speak to Niki Ling… she’s an A–level student at the school… yes yes, year thirteen. I see... but it’s urgent… yes, very… a matter of life and death.” May as well tell the truth. I waited on the phone whilst the receptionist went to find her. What would I say? “Hi, this is your future husband talking?” I met Niki in London in 2007 – whic
h was six years in the future from ‘now.’ This was going to be a strange conversation.
“Hello?”
“Hi Niki, you don’t know me, but I know you.”
“Who is this?”
“I’m a friend of your family…” Good line I thought. “Something very bad is going to happen, and I need to tell someone I can trust…”
“What sort of thing?”
“Two passenger airliners are going to crash into the World Trade Center in New York at around 8.45am this morning, US Eastern time – that’s 1.45pm our time… it will seem like an accident at first, but it won’t be: it’ll be a terrorist attack.”
“How do you know all this? Why are you telling me? You should tell the authorities.”
“Yes, I’m going to – but they might not believe me… they might think I’m just a crank…”
“They might be right.”
How could I explain this without sounding totally weird? ‘Well, it was like this – I dropped my phone, and the date went back thirteen years (and so did I), so actually I’ve travelled from the future – where, incidentally, you and I are married, and have great sex...” Well, maybe not. (I mean maybe she won’t believe me… there’s no doubt about the sex).
“I’m sorry, I’ve to go now – I’m in class soon. I really think you should tell someone important about this – or get help... medical help.”
What now? I had to talk to someone who could do something, someone who could stop the attack happening. I approached the Information Desk – it seemed the best place to start.
“Hi, I need to talk to Security.”
“Have you lost something, sir?” the auburn haired assistant in the blue uniform and red lipstick asked me. I was tempted to say ‘yes, my mind,’ but they could be the judge of that.
“No, but I’ve got some very important information – I must see someone urgently.” Did I sound like a crank? I tried not to.
“What sort of information?” she asked.
“It concerns a possible terrorist attack in New York City – today.”
Her face changed from a smile to something more serious. “Right, just one moment…” The lady picked up her phone and spoke softly but urgently into the receiver. “Can I have your name sir – and some ID?” I gave her my full name and showed her my passport. She made a couple of notes and handed it back. “Someone will come to see you in a couple of minutes Mr Cooper,” she smiled thinly.
I waited anxiously. What was the worst that could happen? They’d take me to a small room with no windows, interrogate me, detain me in custody, do nothing about the threat, the attack would happen, I’d be a suspect and charged under the Terrorism Act (if that’s been passed yet), and locked away for years. They’d take away my phone so I couldn’t get back to the present day (my present day), and I’d never see Niki again. Mmm…
“Mr Cooper?” I nodded. “Could you come with me sir?” I followed a tall, well–built man with closely cropped grey hair and an airport security uniform to a part of the airport I’d never seen before. He looked like an ex–policeman, who still worked out to keep fit. He punched in a security code, and we entered a brightly lit area. His manner was friendly and genial, but very business–like. “Please take a seat.” I sat opposite him across a wooden table. A woman brought me some water. “I need to record this conversation. It’s standard procedure in these situations.”
“No problem.”
“You said you had some information – about New York?”
I told him what I could remember from thirteen years ago. At around 8.45am, an American Airways passenger aircraft will fly into the North Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City. Everyone will think it’s an accident at first, but about fifteen minutes later a second aircraft will hit the other tower from a different direction. Then a third plane will take off from Washington airport, double–back and crash in front of the Pentagon in Washington D.C. All three planes (plus a fourth which will crash into a field after the passengers try to overpower the hijackers), will be piloted by terrorists – Islamic fundamentalists. The man wrote notes whilst I talked. When I’d finished, he asked me what time the third plane would crash into the Pentagon building.
“I can’t remember exactly…”
“Remember?”
“I mean, from my source… I think about nine–thirty.”
The man finished writing and looked at me. “You understand Mr Cooper that we take any terrorist threats very seriously indeed. At the same time, before we act on this sort of information, we must be sure that this is a real threat and not a hoax…”
“This is not a hoax, believe me. People are going to die – thousands of people. The towers will collapse – implode – people will jump from the burning buildings… it will be horrible… you’ve got to stop it!” It had now thoroughly dawned on me how real this was, and how I really could stop a disaster – if this man would just listen to me.
“I’m not saying that you yourself are knowingly perpetrating a hoax Mr Cooper… can I call you Joe?” I nodded. “I’m sure you’re relaying this information in good faith; but at this stage, how do I know this is genuine and not misinformation that you have received. Do you understand?” I nodded again. “I do have to warn you there are heavy penalties for hoaxes – with up to five years in prison.”
“I know that what I am telling you is the truth, and this will happen,” I said seriously and confidently.
“How do you know?” the man asked. “What’s the source of your information?” I glanced at the clock: 10.16am, London time. Just two hours, thirty minutes before the first plane would hit the Twin Towers. If I told him the truth, he wouldn’t believe a single word.
“I can’t reveal my source,” I replied. “My life would be in danger.” I didn’t know what else to say. “Look,” I said standing up, gripping the table, “there’s not much time left – you’ve got to do something.”
“We will do everything necessary, Mr Cooper, that’s my job – but it’s no use getting agitated. We have to follow procedures – and we’ll do that as quickly as we can. Now, do you happen to know the flight numbers of these aircraft?” he asked calmly. I sat down and took my mind back to the news stories thirteen years ago.
“The first one was definitely American Airlines – flight number eleven I think. I can’t remember the second, but I’m pretty sure it was a United Airlines aircraft. And the one that hit the Pentagon was also American Airlines.”
“That Hit the Pentagon?”
“Will hit it.”
“Okay, thank you Joe,” the man said rising from his chair, “that’s very helpful. I’ll have to ask you to wait here whilst I check these out… what time is your flight?” I told him my flight number and departure time. “I’m sorry, but you might have to miss that one,” he said leaving the room.
I sat and waited, wondering what would happen next. Then my mobile rang.
“Hi, this is Niki… I have a break.”
“Oh great!”
“Have you told the authorities?”
“I have – I’m at airport security now. I’m not sure they believe me though.”
“I believe you,” she said.
“You do? Why? It must sound completely crazy.”
“Yeah, it does in a way… but I’ve got a feeling that you’re telling the truth. I don’t know why. Can they stop it happening?”
“I suppose they can ground the planes… but it’s a big ask. A lot of people won’t be happy… the airlines could lose a lot of money.” A woman brought me a cup of coffee, and I told Niki I’d get back to her when I had anymore news. The woman said I’d have to wait another ten or fifteen minutes. Everyone was polite and courteous – no thumb screws yet. Twenty minutes later, the man (whose name was Rodgers) returned – this time with another man. He was thinner and shorter than Rodgers, with longish hair and round–rimmed spectacles, and dressed casually, with a green role neck sweater and blue jeans.
“Well, the
flight details you gave us seem to check out,” said Rodgers.” There’s an American Airlines flight eleven out of Boston…
“Yes, that’s the one – it’s not bound for New York City, but the hijackers turn it towards New York…”
“I see. And there’s a United Airlines flight 175 from New York… could that be the one you mentioned – the one that will target the South Tower?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it.”
Then the second man spoke. “How did you sleep last night Mr Cooper?” This caught me off my guard.
“I slept fine…”
“Any dreams?” I stopped for a moment, realizing where he was going with this.
“Oh, you mean about aeroplanes flying into buildings?”
“Something like that.”
“Look, this is real; I haven’t made it up…”
“I’m not saying you are,” the man said. “But the language you’ve used to describe these events is that of an observer who has seen something happen. You told Mr Rodgers that planes will crash into the twin towers around 8.45am and 9am. Usually with inside information, people tell us when an event will begin, but never finish. So normally we would hear something like, ‘American Airlines Flight 11 will be hijacked and flown towards the World Trade Center in New York City.’ No–one ever gives exact times because in a hijack situation it’s impossible to say when the event will finish, only when it was planned to start. And even the start time is only a prediction. Who knows when the flight will actually take off – you must have had your share of delayed flights. And no–one can predict how long it will take the hijackers to gain control of an aeroplane and change course. You’re describing something you’ve already seen happen, rather than what is planned to happen.”
I was about to say, ‘this is definitely not a dream, it’s real,’ when I realized that this was the perfect explanation – and one they might believe. Many people have dreams, visions or premonitions of something that’s about to happen. And this man (whom I later discovered was a psychologist called Dr Skinner) was not saying that I had made it up; he was proposing it was some sort of precognition, which was actually totally valid.
“I thought you’d think I was crazy,” I said at last. “I didn’t think you’d take it seriously if I said I had a vivid dream.”
The psychologist smiled and nodded at Rodgers, who said “Thank you for your time Joe. We’re going to pass on all the details to Washington, and it’s up to them what they do with it. Obviously, it’s very different from the usual type of tip off, and I don’t know how they’ll respond. Many people have dreams about disasters, but ninety–nine percent of them don’t concern real events. Yours, though, has an unusual amount of detail. We do need you to wait at the airport for a little while longer, I’m afraid. Anything else you can remember will be extremely valuable to us, and the FBI in Washington is likely to want to talk to you – we’ll need your work, home and mobile phone numbers, and a copy of your passport.”
