Close Up the Sky

by James L. Ferrell

  He flipped on the blue lights and headed for the airport.

  Chapter 10

  Though Leahy had discovered some interesting information in the computerized expedition reports, he had learned nothing that might aid in solving his brother’s disappearance. He was about to discontinue reading them when the machine refused to allow access to a file attachment. Each time he hit the small paperclip icon at the bottom of the file, a window popped up reading ENTER PASSWORD. No matter how many times he tried, he got the same result. He thought it was strange since none of the other files contained attachments. If Edward had seen fit to protect this particular document he must have had a good reason. Leahy knew more about his brother than any other person, and he was confident that he could break the password if given enough time. Edward had never been a complicated man, so the correct password was probably uncomplicated as well.

  He leaned back in the chair and rubbed his eyes. It was cool in Durant's office, but a thin film of sweat glistened on his upper lip. He rubbed the perspiration away with the back of his hand and shook his head. Lack of sleep and hours of forced concentration were taking their toll. It was times like this when he really missed having a cigarette and cup of coffee.

  The digital clock on the desk showed 8:33 AM. He had left Taylor asleep and slipped away before dawn to start working on the files. Both of them had been exhausted, so he had not awakened her. She would be up by now, on her way to meet him, probably furious at having been left behind.

  The thought of her brought a smile to his face. In the last few hours she had removed all the bitter emotions that had plagued him since his divorce and had given new direction to his life. They had given themselves to each other completely, holding nothing back. For the first time in many years he felt whole. Finding her had more than balanced the tumultuous events surrounding his experiences at Apache Point. From now on, whatever happened to him he would consider it worth the cost. His only regret was the wasted years.

  He got up and stretched his back muscles, glancing down at the computer screen. ENTER PASSWORD still flashed in the window. "Damn your eyes," he said to the computer.

  He was about to turn the machine off when the door opened and Durant entered. Someone whom he instantly recognized was close behind the scientist. It was Mike Summerhour, one of the NSA agents from Atlanta. He was not surprised to see the man, having just read his name several times in the computer files as working with Edward on various expeditions.

  "Good morning, Matt,” Durant said. “I believe you two gentlemen have met," he indicated Summerhour with a wave of his hand.

  Leahy didn't acknowledge the remark. He stood quiescent as they approached, his gaze fixed on Summerhour.

  The NSA agent looked embarrassed as he stuck out his hand. “I wouldn't blame you if you slapped it away, but I hope you can see why I had to lie to you back in Atlanta."

  Leahy hesitated for a couple of seconds before taking Summerhour's hand. "No problem," he said softly, but his face belied the response. "I wouldn't have believed the truth anyway." He returned the firm handshake with equal pressure.

  Durant eased himself into a chair and pulled out the inevitable pipe. His manner, and the grimace on his face, indicated he was still suffering physically from the events of the previous hours. "I wanted the two of you to meet before now," he said, "but Mike's been occupied on another project. Dr. Kasdan will be joining us shortly." He glanced at the computer screen behind Leahy. "Were the reports helpful?"

  "I found them interesting, but they weren't really any help. It was just something I thought we should eliminate as a possibility." He sat down and assumed a relaxed posture.

  "Too bad," the physicist said. "We'd already gone over them pretty much in detail, but I was hoping you might see something we overlooked."

  "There's just that." He pointed to the computer screen with the window demanding a password.

  Durant walked to the computer and studied the screen. He tried several unsuccessful password combinations then said, "I don't understand this. The attachment must be something Edward added to the file, but why encrypt it?"

  "Obviously he didn't want anyone else to read it," Summerhour put in. "Maybe we could get our computer experts to see if they can bypass it."

  "Let's wait a while," Leahy said. He punched the escape key and cleared the screen. "I'd like to try a few things before we do that."

  "Dr. Durant told me about your encounter with the gunman in the desert," Summerhour said, changing the subject. "You have any idea who he was?" He dropped into a chair and crossed his legs.

  "Not yet. The military is trying to trace his fingerprints, but I doubt they’ll come up with anything."

  "Too bad he couldn't have been taken alive," Summerhour mused. "We might have gotten the answers to a lot of questions."

  "He didn't leave us much choice," Leahy responded, his voice testy. "We were lucky not to have been killed ourselves." He knew Summerhour's remark was a natural observation, and under similar circumstances he might have said the same thing, but he also knew the reason for his irritation was because Summerhour had lied to him. It might have been necessary, but as far as professional courtesy was concerned, it left something to be desired. Anyone who lied would be a long time redeeming themselves with Matt Leahy.

  "Of course," Summerhour responded quickly. He sensed the edge in Leahy’s voice. "Captain Williams did exactly what he should have done. It's just that we've come up with an absolute blank in trying to find out what we're up against here. So far our only clue is a dead man." He glanced at Durant then back to Leahy. "I can't help thinking of all the lives at stake."

  Leahy felt some of the tension leave him. "I understand," he said. "But we still have a few things going for us. We're trying to trace the rifle now." He did not mention his request to have the Apache Point security chief's blood and urine analyzed.

  "Through the FBI?" Summerhour asked.

  "No. There's no time for that much red tape. A friend of mine is having it processed."

  That answer seemed to alarm Summerhour. He shifted to the edge of his chair. "Matt, you know this is a top secret project," he warned.

  Leahy held up his hand. "Don't worry. He doesn't know any more than he has to. Besides, he's not connected with the government. Until we know who the players are, I thought it best not to involve anyone else from Apache Point."

  "Tracing a rifle could take a long time," Summerhour said. He noticed that Leahy intentionally failed to disclose who was doing the processing.

  "We still have a little time left. Let's hope it's enough." Leahy responded.

  Summerhour shook his head in disagreement. "Not enough. We have to leave this afternoon."

  Leahy looked at Durant, his puzzlement evident. “Based on what you told me earlier, we still have more than twenty-four hours to go," he complained. "Why are we leaving this afternoon?"

  Durant looked surprised. "Because you have to be in position to transfer by the deadline. It'll take at least eighteen hours just to get you there." He glanced from Leahy to Summerhour, obviously confused by the misunderstanding. "I thought you realized how it works. Is there a problem?"

  "Be in position where?" He was obviously missing something. "Aren't we making the transfer from here?"

  Durant stared at him for a few seconds, then relaxed and nodded to himself. "Of course," he said absently. "It's my fault. How stupid of me. I failed to tell you how the Chronocom operates. You must have thought all the time shifts take place here at Apache Point."

  "They don't?" Leahy leaned forward, his expression apprehensive.

  "I'm sorry, Matt, but they don’t,” Durant answered. “If we transported you from here you'd just wind up in prehistoric New Mexico. You see, the Chronocom alters the time continuum at whatever point the energy is directed to. You remember when I told you about the seawater?"

  Leahy nodded.

  "Well, that happened because there was once an ocean on this very spot. We didn't know it at the ti
me, but the stellarite was responding to being activated in an uncontrolled direction. It simply reached back along the path of least resistance and pulled the water forward. Since then we've learned how to channel the energy along a narrow beam at different power levels. Each point in time is directly related to a certain amount of power concentrated in that beam. You probably noticed the big antenna on top of the research building. The stellarite's energy is funneled through that antenna to one of three satellites. The selected satellite retransmits the energy beam to a specific target at ground level. When it strikes the target, the concentrated energy flares out and disrupts the time continuum at that particular place. When the energy dissipates, the transfer is complete. So you see, you have to be where the window opens in order to go through. In this case, the target is in Egypt." The physicist fell silent, waiting for him to respond.

  Leahy sat there for an indeterminate time, his thoughts turned inward. He was not prepared for this new revelation. He mentally kicked himself for assuming the Chronocom probably acted like the transporter on Star Trek. There, you just stepped in at one end and out at the other. He should have known it could not be that simple.

  There was no way Pierce could complete what he had asked of him by afternoon, and by that time they would be en route to Egypt, leaving him waiting for a call that would never come. Using a cellphone from the aircraft would be out of the question for security reasons. It was uncertain that Pierce would discover anything, but Leahy’s intuition told him the tests were of paramount importance. Now, circumstances made it impossible to get the results.

  "I understand," he finally said to Durant. "I should have been more specific in my questions when you explained it to me. It’s just that I was counting on a few more hours.” He drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair for a few seconds then asked, “You’re certain there’s no way to transfer from here?”

  Durant shook his head. "There are cases where we have transferred inanimate objects from one place to another, but we would never try that with people. It's far too dangerous to risk it with human life. I wish it was possible, Matt, but we're locked in. Your flight leaves Albuquerque at three-thirty this afternoon. It would be even sooner if the Air Force could have a plane ready before then."

  Leahy waved both hands in exasperation. “It’s okay. We’ll make do.” He looked at Summerhour and said, "I believe you said we would be leaving?"

  "Yes," Durant answered for the other man. "That's why I wanted you two to get together. Mike's one of our senior agents. He'll be the fourth member of your team."

  Before Leahy could form a response, Durant's secretary buzzed the intercom to announce Taylor's arrival. A second later she walked into the room, followed by Williams. She and Leahy looked at each other for a few seconds, communicating without words.

  "Am I late?" She directed the question to Leahy.

  "Just by a few years," he responded with a knowing smile. Only the two of them understood his cryptic response.

  She walked over and stood close to him. "Morning, Dr. Durant, Mike," she said to the other men. “Sorry we’re running late but Chuck wasn’t cleared for the research building. We had to manually put a copy of his fingerprints into the computer before he could get in. We didn’t plan on his being here, you know.”

  Williams and Summerhour had not met, so she introduced them.

  "I've been looking forward to meeting you, Captain," Summerhour said. He gave the Marine an appraising look and offered his hand. "Dr. Durant told me about what happened last night. It's a miracle you're still alive. How are you feeling?"

  "A little sore," Williams answered as he shook Summerhour's hand. "But you're right about the miracle." He tugged at the material of the jumpsuit.

  Summerhour nodded. "Yes, they've saved many of us at one time or another. We lost some good people before they were developed."

  Their conversation was interrupted when Dr. Kasdan knocked and entered the room. “Hello everyone,” he said in a jovial tone. “Sorry I’m running behind.” He looked disheveled, as though he had been working all night. His eyes were red-rimmed and he had not shaved.

  "You look tired, John," Durant said. "Are you feeling alright?"

  "Just worked a little late last night. Sorry about the appearance.” He rubbed his palms down the front of his lab coat. "Is there any coffee?" He went over the kitchenette, saw that the pot was cold, and went about making some.

  Leahy ignored Kasdan's interruption by directing a question at Summerhour. "According to these files, you and Edward worked together on a few projects. You have any ideas about what happened to him?"

  Summerhour shook his head. "I've gone through everything I can remember about those expeditions a hundred times. There's just nothing there to indicate anything like this would happen. Edward was one of our best agents. In fact, if it weren't for him, none of this would even be here." He waved his arm around the room in a sweeping gesture. "It doesn't make sense."

  “The last time you saw him did he seem disturbed about anything?” Leahy asked.

  “If you mean disturbed about his work, he got exasperated sometimes but that’s not unusual. We all do. You’d have to have field experience to know how difficult some of these situations can be.”

  “Was there any particular situation that seemed worse than the others?” He was not exactly sure what he was fishing for; just hoping Summerhour might say something that would make sense out of the whole affair.

  Summerhour thought the question over then shook his head. “No. Like I said, there’s nothing there.”

  “Could he have been sick? Maybe out of his head or something?”

  “Edward sick? Hell no! He was strong as an ox. Besides, we’re all vaccinated against the known illnesses. Our medical research department sees to that. But even if we missed something his team would have seen it coming and taken proper measures. Besides, the greatest danger of disease is that we’ll transmit some modern virus rather than get one. That possibility is a good deal more likely than what you’re asking.”

  “It was just a thought,” Leahy replied absently. “I’m just trying to cover the possibilities.”

  “I know,” Summerhour said. He squeezed his lips into a thin line. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I didn’t find anything at the scene of the murders that might help, either,” he said.

  Leahy stiffened visibly, his attention riveted on the other man. So he was the investigator Durant had mentioned! He had been about to ask that very thing when Summerhour volunteered the information himself. “You were at the scene?” He blurted out before he could get his surprise under control.

  “Yes,” Summerhour responded. His eyes darted at the other three people then back to Leahy. “Unfortunately, that job fell to me as chief field agent.”

  Leahy cast a quick glance at Taylor. She was staring at Summerhour, waiting for him to continue, but he remained silent. “Dr. Durant says you think the expedition members were shot,” he prompted. “Could you have been mistaken?”

  “The bodies were badly decomposed,” Summerhour answered. “But I don’t think there’s any doubt about it. They all had entry wounds in the foreheads and exit wounds at the back of the skull. Only bullets do that kind of damage. I also found some expended shell casings scattered about.”

  “That’s a good start. Did you collect them?”

  Summerhour shrugged and shook his head. “No, I didn’t think it was important.”

  Leahy blew out a breath and stood up. “We could have matched them back to the weapon that fired them. And there might also have been some fingerprints on them from the person who loaded them into the magazine.” He turned his back to them and stared quietly at the vibrant Milky Way scene on the wall. “I understand they still had their weapons on them,” he said.

  “They did.”

  “There was no evidence that they tried to defend themselves? Had any of the weapons been fired?”

  “Not that I could tell. Of course they could have been killed in th
eir sleep, but that’s unlikely. It’s standard procedure to post a sentry. It looked more like…” he trailed off, reluctant to say the obvious.

  “Like it was somebody they knew and trusted,” Leahy continued for him. “Somebody they weren’t expecting it from.” He turned to face them. “Like Edward.”

  Kasdan came back and took a seat. "Coffee's ready if anyone wants some."

  They ignored him.

  “Matt, I’m not pointing the finger at anyone,” Summerhour said defensively. “But the fact is, there were only the four of them on the expedition. Edward may be your brother, but he was also my friend. If you can think of another explanation I’ll be the first one to latch onto it. If not, we’ll have to go on what we have.”

  Leahy sat down behind the desk and clasped his hands in front of him. “Alright,” he said. He glanced at each of them in turn. “Let’s go over the facts as we know them. For the sake of argument, we’ll assume that whoever killed the agents is also mixed up in the Chronocom sabotage. Is that reasonable?”

  They nodded agreement.

  “Dr. Durant, where was Edward when the sabotage occurred?”

  Durant took the pipe out of his mouth and let out an audible breath. “He was here. He worked late in the geology lab that night. But……”

  “Okay, that puts him near the scene. Were there any guards on the Chronocom?”

  “Not on the device itself. Level 10 can only be reached by a special elevator. Two Marines are stationed there at all times.”

  “Do they remember Edward going to level 10 that night?”

  “That’s just the problem, Matt,” Taylor put in. “They say nobody used the elevator that night.”

  Leahy was momentarily speechless. Her answer did more than just puzzle him; it disrupted his whole line of questioning. He leaned back in his chair and stared at her for a few seconds. He shook his head. “You’ve lost me.”

  “We know from the computer readouts that the damage took place over a four minute period starting at 7:34 P.M.” Durant explained. “The two guards both swear that nobody was on level 10. Their log sheets bear them out. Everybody who signed in also signed out. The Chronocom labs were completely deserted.”