36: A Novel (25 page)

I glared at him.  Pissed.  Wanting to rant and rave, but it was difficult to maintain the level of anger when he was so fucking calm and collected about the whole situation.  A juvenile impulse to reach out and slap the mug, spilling coffee on his clothes passed through me.  I barely resisted the urge.

“Wasn’t necessary,” I said.  “And where are we?  Back in real time?”

“Yes,” he said.  “About sixteen hours ago.  And we’ve reviewed the data from your chip.”

“That’s nice,” I said sarcastically.  “What did you do with Julie?”

“Ms. Broussard is no longer your concern,” he said.  “She is being protected.  That’s all you need to know.”

“Fuck need to know!”  I shouted.  “What did you do with her?”

“Mr. Whitman…”

“I’m not fucking around, Johnson,” I said through clenched teeth.  “That woman did nothing other than help.  Now you can tell me what you did with her or I’m going to shove that mug up your ass and turn it sideways.”

“As pleasant as that sounds, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

There was just a hint of tension that appeared in his shoulders and his free hand stiffened into a hard edge.  He was prepared to defend himself if I tried to carry out my threat.  I sat staring into his eyes, breathing hard as I struggled with the desire to go for his jugular.

“You’re an asshole, Johnson,” I seethed.  “I thought you were someone I could trust, but now I see what you really are.  You’re just a cog in the machine, incapable of making a human decision.”

“I have two ex-wives who would agree with you on those points,” he smiled.

After a moment, despite myself, I felt the anger begin to dissipate.  Just the blind rage anger.  I was still upset and determined to know what had happened to Julie.

“Tell me what you did with her, or get out,” I said in a calmer voice.  “I don’t work for people that I can’t trust.”

He stared at me for a long time.  Nearly two full minutes.  The silence stretched out until it was uncomfortable, but I wasn’t going to be the first one to break it.  Finally, he heaved a sigh, relaxed his shoulders and took another sip of coffee.

“Ms. Broussard was taken to an FBI safe house in Los Angeles.  She was well cared for as we wrapped up a few things.”

“What things?”  I asked.

“We ensured that the dash cam footage containing her image has been completely erased.  We also scoured the path you took escaping from the apartment to locate and delete any video evidence of the two of you in the stolen Kia.  So far we’ve had to intercede and wipe three ATM cameras and the security systems in four different retail stores that captured the two of you abandoning the SUV and walking to the hotel.

“And equally as important, we talked with her to make sure none of what she saw or heard will be repeated.  To anyone.  Once we were satisfied, she was returned to her apartment”.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”  I asked.  “You lied to me when you sent that agent.”

“I did?”  He asked, eyebrows arching.  “I don’t seem to recall saying anything other than the agent would take both of you to a secure location.  And that is precisely what occurred.  I’m sorry if it wasn’t handled in a manner acceptable to you, but here you are.  Safe and undetected by the authorities investigating your little mess.  And so is Ms. Broussard.”

“Fuck you,” I mumbled, refusing to acknowledge that
technically
he was correct.

“I believe you meant to say,
thank you
,” he said, frowning.

“What now?”  I asked, ignoring what he’d just said.  “Debrief so you know what happened?”

“We already know exactly what happened, Mr. Whitman.  That data chip inside you?  It doesn’t just carry a record of why we sent you back.  It also records everything you did. 

“So, not a debrief, but we’re going to have some discussions about how you handled things.  And Mr. Patterson wants to speak with you, too.”

“Fine,” I grumbled, not looking forward to any of the conversations that were in my immediate future.

“Now,” he said, getting to his feet.  “I’ll leave you to clean up and get some food.  Be in the conference room in forty-five minutes.”

With that, he left my quarters without another word.  I watched him depart, still unhappy with the way things had gone.  But then, I imagined he was as well.  Glancing at my watch, I noted the time.  Grabbing my kit and a small towel, I headed for a community shower I shared with half a dozen of the analysts.

Twenty minutes later I was cleanly shaven, showered, dressed in fresh clothes and heading for the cantina.  Loading a plate with food, I looked around and spotted Dr. Anholts.  She was seated by herself, as usual, typing away on her laptop as a tray of food sitting by her elbow went untouched.  No wonder she was so damn skinny.

“Hi,” I said, walking up.

“Mr. Whitman,” she said brightly.  “Welcome back!”

“Thank you.  May I join you?”

She looked surprised, but quickly waved me to a seat on the opposite side of the table.

“I understand your first mission was successful, despite some unexpected consequences,” she said, pushing the laptop to the side and closing the lid.

“I suppose,” I said.  “I’m about to go into a meeting with the Director and Agent Johnson.  They don’t seem too happy with me.”

“Pffffttt,” she made a rude noise.  “Director Patterson is never happy.  He seems to be incapable of recognizing and acknowledging accomplishments.”

She looked around us, conspiratorially, and leaned close.  Lowering her voice to almost a whisper, she smiled and said, “He’s also a bit of a pompous ass.”

Hmmm.  Those were interesting insights.  I was glad to know that I’d read her correctly.  She loved her work, but resented the government drone that was in charge of what should be her project.

“Can I ask you something?”  I said, taking a bite of my food.

“By all means,” she smiled.  “Anything you like.”

“The thirty-six hours.  Why?  What I mean is, why can’t we go back farther?”

She looked at me and her eyes danced.  Then she smiled.

“Perhaps we can,” she said.  “Especially since you didn’t experience any of the disorientation the other assets reported.”

I paused with a fork halfway to my mouth.

“How did you know?”  I asked.

“Your data chip,” she said, leaning closer as if taking me into her confidence.  “It also records everything that occurs while you’re back in time.  One of the first things I did was to review the first couple of hours, post-arrival.  It’s quite exciting!”

I shoveled in a couple of bites, keeping an eye on the large clock attached to the wall.  Being late for a meeting with Johnson or Patterson, as I’d learned the hard way, was a pain in the ass.

“Yeah, I was pretty happy about that, too,” I said in between bites.  “But, what do you mean by, “perhaps”?  Have you found something?”

She looked around again before speaking, as if still afraid of being overheard.  Leaning closer, she whispered so softly that I had to completely focus to understand what she was saying.

“It’s all about power, Mr. Whitman.  I’m working on a side project with hopes that with greater power we can generate and control larger Black Holes.  In theory, with enough power and a large enough portal, we could send someone back weeks, months or possibly even years.

“That hadn’t been a possibility due to the severe effect of even thirty-six hours of time travel.  Until you came along.  You were completely unaffected by the trip.  Of course, extending farther back might produce undesired results, but it’s given me hope.”

“Speaking of power,” I began, pausing to finish chewing and swallow a bite of my meal.  “You told me this collision thing was what created the Black Hole, and said it was in Texas.  We’re in the middle of the ocean.  How’s it working here?”

“My, Mr. Whitman.  You continue to surprise me,” she smiled as if I was a student that had shown he wasn’t as dull as the professor had thought.  “The proper name is superconducting supercollider.  If you like, I can loan you a book that will tell you all about it.  There’s one buried in the sea floor beneath us.  The largest ever constructed, and built just for the Athena Project.

“It is more powerful than the one in Texas.  Much more, but I haven’t been allowed to turn it up above the levels achieved when we first discovered that we could move through time.  My team and I are working furiously on calculations to prove it will be safe.”

I had kept shoveling food into my mouth while she spoke.  My heart leapt when I heard what she had to say.  Possibly go back years?  Years was what I needed to correct the errors in my life.  Travel back and correct some of the mistakes I’d made.  There still wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think about Monica and what could have been.  If I had a chance to fix things and have a life with her instead of ten wasted years in prison…

“You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone,” Dr. Anholts cautioned.  “I shouldn’t be saying anything, but if I can’t tell an asset, who can I tell?”

She leaned back and smiled at me.  I returned the smile after wiping my mouth with a paper napkin.

“Thanks for the time, Doc,” I said.  “I’d better be on my way before Agent Johnson comes looking for me.  Anytime you want someone to talk to about the project, I’d love to listen.”

She smiled and wished me good luck with my meeting.  I smiled back as I stood, picked up my tray and carried it away.  Glancing at a clock, I saw I had seven minutes left.  Good.  I’d arrive a few minutes early and not give either of them an excuse to chew on me for being tardy.  Damn, but sometimes this was worse than being in the Army.

30

Even though I was early, Patterson and Agent Johnson were already in the room waiting for me.  The projector was on and when I walked in Agent Johnson reached out and paused the video they were watching.  I looked at the screen, seeing a frozen image of Julie sitting on the edge of the bed in the motel room when she was telling me about her husband’s death.

“What the hell?”  I asked.  “You guys had a camera hidden on me?”

“Several,” Johnson nodded, gesturing for me to take a seat in one of the empty chairs.  “They continually stream to your data chip, recording everything you do.”

I was pissed, but held my tongue and sat down.  They hadn’t told me about the cameras.  Probably wanted to see what I did and how I handled myself when I thought I was alone. 

“We’ve reviewed the video several times,” Patterson said.  “We aren’t here for you to tell us what happened.  We already know that.  What we want to know is why you made the decisions you made.  Let’s begin with your choice to assault the target at the end of the event point rather than earlier.”

I was quiet for a moment, struggling internally to calm myself and not exacerbate my situation.  They weren’t happy that Julie had become involved, and I decided I’d rather not fight a battle over that decision at the moment.  Pick your fights carefully and maybe you’ll live to fight another day.

“I felt that, tactically, it was a better idea to attack as they were preparing to leave,” I said, forcing the words to come out in a calm and reasonable tone.

For several minutes I spoke, describing my thought processes leading up to the decision.  I told them about my observation of the leader arriving at the parking lot with all of the weapons, and what I believed that meant.  And how it appeared to have been a correct assumption.

When I finished, Johnson pressed some keys on his laptop and the frozen video image disappeared.  It was replaced with a still photo of three hard sided crates sitting in the middle of a carpeted floor.  The lids had been removed.  Clearly visible in each were four AK-74s, resting in foam cutouts.  Twelve rifles.  Two crates went with the leader and the third would be the spare weapons I’d been told were found in the apartment.

“This is a crime scene photo from the apartment,” Johnson explained.  “These were found in one of the bedrooms you didn’t enter.  Gun cleaning supplies were found, and traces of solvent and oil were on all but two of the perpetrators’ hands.  Your assumption appears to have been correct.”

I nodded, unsure if this was praise.  And not really caring if it was or not.  I’d done my job.  To me, that was all that mattered.  Maybe it was a little messy, but right now, somewhere in California, a bunch of children, teachers and cops were alive because of what I’d done.  I had to acknowledge to myself; that felt pretty damn good.

We went through the rest of the time I’d spent in the past.  Reviewed every little turn of events.  Every detail was discussed.  Johnson asked questions, but Patterson remained silent.  Listening to my answers.  Observing me like I was some sort of curiosity.  I was more than surprised when the topic shifted to my lack of disorientation and I hadn’t been read the riot act about involving Julie.

“Hold on,” I said, raising my hand like a traffic cop.  “You still haven’t explained what Julie was doing in that apartment.  It was supposed to be empty.”

“The advance team made an error,” Johnson sighed.  “The apartment building is managed by an older couple.  They only spoke with the wife, who was unaware that the husband had rented the unit the previous morning.  It was a mistake that shouldn’t have happened, and will not happen again.”

I nodded, resisting the impulse to bitch about the situation.  But then maybe they weren’t making a big deal out of this because it was their mistake in sending me to that particular apartment.  I decided to let the topic drop.

“What’s happening with Julie?  What’s being done to her?”  I asked, not sure I trusted Johnson had given me a straight answer.

“Done
to
her, Mr. Whitman?”  Patterson finally spoke up, sounding slightly indignant.  “What do you think we are?  She’s an American citizen.  Nothing is being done
to
her.  She has been returned to her home.  The agent in charge of her detail was satisfied after speaking with her that she will not reveal any of her little experience with you.

“Another agent has deleted both of your images from the local Police Department’s data servers.  In addition, her employer has received a visit from the FBI, explaining that Ms. Broussard’s absence was due to an emergency situation in which her assistance was required by the US Government.  It was made clear to them that any reprisals against her due to her absence would be unwise.  Good enough?”