The Medina Device

by T. J. Champitto

  “He’s here. Have you brought my asset?”

  “It was never yours,” Marco shouted from beyond, announcing his presence.

  “Step closer,” Carson jolted, squinting at the old physicist.

  Marco and Rand took a few slow steps toward Cam, and the three now stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the middle of the rotunda floor.

  “Well, isn’t this interesting,” Carson noted. “Dr. Marco Damion. I assume this is your doing?”

  “Where’s my brother, asshole?” Cam shouted. “I’m done playing your little war games. This ends tonight! Where is he?”

  “He’s right here,” Carson promised, motioning to the crypt behind him.

  Two men emerged from the shadows on queue. One seemed to be holding the other upright as he forced him to the center of the pavilion.

  With his gun fixed on Carson, Cam glanced at the prisoner being dragged toward him. He looked badly beaten and in rough shape, struggling to stand. It was Michael. The closer Michael got, the tenser the moment became. The brothers were now merely five feet apart.

  “This negotiation won’t go any further until you holster your weapon,” Carson said into the night.

  A low fog drifted above the rotunda as they faced-off in the open-air pit surrounded by marble walls. Without warning, two more gunmen emerged from the crypt, their assault rifles at the ready. Their calculated approach and slow, precise footwork revealed a lifetime of training. Rand carefully took aim at the approaching shadows.

  With a slight wave of his hand, Carson ordered the thugs to lower their assault rifles, which they immediately did. He shot a cold stare at Rand, who also lowered his weapon. Cam, however, held his pistol and focused his breathing. He steadied himself behind the 9mm, ready to light up the entire place. With every heave of his lungs he clouded the air around him with a soft fog.

  After a final dramatic breath into the cold night, Cam lowered his gun.

  “Very good,” Carson said with relief. “Now, let’s get this over with.”

  Cam took a long look at his little brother. Michael had clearly been interrogated and tortured; it was evident by the wrapped, bloody hand and distant look in his eyes.

  “Bring him here,” Cam instructed.

  “The device, Mr. Lyle. Show it to me.” Carson stood confident with his hands shoved into a black winter coat.

  After a long pause, Cam finally turned to Marco, and delivered a knowing wink.

  “Is this what you’re looking for, Mr. Carson?” the physicist offered as he pulled the Medina Device from his coat pocket.

  The two snipers on the roof of Notre-Dame immediately locked onto their targets in the rotunda below, as did a third sharpshooter from the gates of the monument entrance. The snipers were zeroed in, awaiting the final signal from Carson.

  “Where’s the rest of it?” the grizzled operative asked.

  Cam dramatically threw the backpack onto the stone floor at Carson’s feet.

  “Thank you. Now, Dr. Damion if you would be so kind as to set the device down and walk away,” Carson ordered.

  “No!” Cam interjected. “Not until I have my brother.”

  Carson hesitated, but he was in no mood to drag this out any further. He turned and gave a commanding wave to the man holding Michael, who then thrust the prisoner onto the ground next to Cam. He landed with a gurgling thud and winced in pain.

  Cam reached for his brother and lifted him from the ground. “Hold on, Michael. We’ll get you outta here,” he whispered.

  As Carson’s right hand slowly made its way up the back of his head in a deliberate movement, the snipers simultaneously eased into their triggers and released a final controlled breath, then fired.

  Marco held the device outward in his right hand and pressed his thumb gently against an illuminated green button.

  The four remained huddled in the center of the rotunda floor.

  Then, the world suddenly stood still. The entire area was completely frozen, resistant to time and movement. The bullets from the snipers’ rifles hung frozen in the air, vibrating through space, fighting for acceleration.

  In a sonic boom that pulsated through the memorial and engulfed the surrounding blocks in a flash of white heat, Carson and his men were blown backward. The three snipers shuddered, blinded by the explosion searing through their scopes.

  The shattering of glass from every window within a five-block radius echoed in the sky as time slowly tried to wind itself back to normal speed.

  Carson lay flat on his back. He caught his breath and leaned up on his elbows, trying to make sense of what was happening. His brain fought to regain functionality. His sight had been blurred and a sharp ring echoed violently in his ears. He blinked, then blinked again. Seconds later, his hearing returned.

  Through the hazy darkness, he could make out his men, scurrying around the rotunda in a frenzy.

  “Carson!” a voice yelled through a muffled filter. “Carson!” It was louder now.

  He shook off the concussion and stood to his feet. With a few more rapid blinks, Carson leaned forward and stared blankly at the memorial floor.

  They were gone.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The sensation was familiar—he’d been knocked unconscious a handful of times before on the battlefield. Cam felt the raindrops on his face but struggled to regain focus on the world around him. A quick body check revealed that he was laying on his back—no mortal wounds. As his vision slowly returned, he found himself staring up at a canopy of trees. He caught his breath and tried to pull himself up. Everything hurt.

  Cam lifted his head and looked in every direction, trying to absorb his environment. The bitter taste of metal ran down his throat. A strange tingling sensation shot down his arm and into his hand. He held it out in front of himself and tightened it into a fist, then opened it again.

  With a deep groan, Cam fought to pull himself to a seated position and turned toward a rustling nearby. It was Marco trying to pull himself off the ground next to him.

  “Marco?”

  The physicist’s gray hair was coiled atop his head and a light stream of blood ran from his nose.

  “I’m okay, Cameron.”

  Just then, Michael stumbled in front of them and reached out his hand to help Cam to his feet.

  “It worked,” Cam quietly noted. “I can’t believe it fuckin’ worked.”

  “Where the hell are we?” Michael asked, in a state of total confusion.

  “We’re alive. That’s where we are,” Marco replied.

  “Rand! Where’s Rand?” Cam shouted.

  “I’m over here,” a voice responded from the bushes. “I can’t see. I think I’m blind.”

  Cam found him lying on his side next to a large rock, holding his ribs in pain.

  “Talk to me, Rand. What’s going on?”

  “Where are we? I can’t see.”

  “His vision will return soon,” assured the physicist from a small clearing behind them. “It’s only temporary.”

  After a minute of steady breathing, Rand was helped to his feet by Cam and Michael. The four men stood bewildered in the center of a thick forest beneath a sweltering sun and soft rain. The environment felt tropical.

  “How long have I been out?” Michael questioned aloud.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” Marco quizzed.

  Michael thought for a moment and shook his head. “I was tied to a chair in a white room—”

  “You don’t remember being taken to Paris? The memorial?” his brother asked.

  “No.” />
  “He’s suffering short-term memory loss,” Marco surmised. “It too shall pass. This has been a traumatic experience for all of us.”

  “What happened to me?” Michael finally demanded, holding his head in pain.

  “We were meeting with your captors for a trade-off,” Cam explained.

  Michael looked through the light rain at the thick vegetation around them. “I’m guessing it didn’t go so well.”

  “We need to find some water,” Cam directed. “Marco, you don’t know where we are, do you?”

  “No. Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean, where we are?” Michael flagrantly pressed. “What have you done? And who the fuck are these guys?” he yelled, sweeping his bandaged hand at the wily, old scientist and a disheveled former agent.

  “Calm down, Michael,” Cam gently replied. “This is Rand Kershaw, he’s a friend. I owe him my life. And this is Dr. Marco Damion, a physicist. He’s one of the Knights. There’s a lot to unpack here, little brother.”

  “Did we…how did you—”

  “All in due time,” Marco assured. “Right now, we need to get moving.”

  Michael stood stunned, trying to wrap his head around the events of the last few hours. His post-concussion cloudiness cast a spell over his ability to comprehend reality. It all felt like a dream.

  Cam led the pack into the pristine, vibrant jungle, searching for something—anything—to indicate their location. After a fifteen-minute hike through the forest, they stumbled into a clearing. The sound of the waves washing ashore could be heard in the distance. And just beyond the clearing, they set their eyes on the beautiful blue waters of an ocean.

  They marched over brush and rock, giving way to sand dunes and seashells, arriving at the beach in awe, mouths agape, staring endlessly at the magnificent landscape. Then, beyond the sand and surf, something strange caught their attention. Their eyes wandered up the beach and out into the blue, where a small powerboat punched through the water toward them.

  “Who’s that?” Michael asked beneath his breath.

  Marco stood with a knowing grin on his face, watching as the boat came to a stop on the shore fifty yards away. They could make out five men dressed in dark blue uniforms. Beyond them, where the horizon met the ocean, rested a large gray ship—a Navy cruiser with heavy battlements.

  As the men in blue uniforms exited the craft and began marching up the beach, a river of shock flowed down Cam’s spine. This isn’t happening, he told himself. The visitors drew closer and it was clear they were US Naval personnel.

  “I believe you boys need a lift,” barked the commanding officer standing at the front of his team.

  Cam was dumbstruck. He carefully examined the sailors standing in front of him.

  “We just—” he tried, but nothing else came out.

  “My name is Admiral Parker. We’re here to rescue you. Is everyone alright?”

  As the man spoke, Cam focused further on the uniforms. They were just strange enough to catch his attention. The material wasn’t right; they didn’t appear to fit properly. The shoes seemed dated and simple.

  Cam’s mind went blank. For a startling moment, he and Rand locked eyes in disbelief. His empty gaze shifted upward, over the admiral’s shoulder to the large ship anchored at sea on the horizon. His pupils narrowed as he read the name written against the hull: USS Oklahoma City.

  Cam’s stomach sank, his legs became weak.

  “Admiral?” he interrupted. “What year is it?”

  “April, 1962. How long have you boys been on this island?” Admiral Parker followed Cam’s eyes and peered over to his ship, then back at the befuddled castaway.

  “We have no idea,” Marco answered. “We’ve lost track of time.”

  “Well, let’s get you gentlemen aboard. You could probably use a hot meal and a medical check. We can take you as far as Pearl Harbor.”

  With that, the sailors assisted Marco, Rand, Cam and Michael to the rubber skiff waiting in the surf.

  Minutes later, a gentle ocean spray beat against Cam’s forehead as the small boat glided along the water beyond the breaking waves. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, allowing the sun to drench his tired face.

  Through the rocking waters and a strong headwind, the four castaways exchanged looks that seemed to cover the entire spectrum of emotions. With each grin and nod, the USS Oklahoma City drew closer.

  Rand’s vision had now returned. The former FBI agent stared with a hopeful calm at the ocean ahead—a new existence he welcomed with open arms. He had no regrets for what he had agreed to in that dusty wine museum—something that surprised even him.

  Michael sat quietly, bobbing in the boat next to his brother. He couldn’t speak, unable to convert any of his thoughts into coherent words. What seemed like a tortured nightmare had somehow evolved into a twisted reality.

  Following a short ride, the skiff pulled up to the guided-missile cruiser. After being hoisted to deck level, the four castaways were lifted aboard.

  Now huddled on the deck, Michael turned to his brother. “Is this really 1962?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid it is,” Cam replied.

  “But that’s impossible.”

  “The device. It’s exactly what you think it is.”

  A blanket of stark reality fell over Michael. “Who is Marco Damion exactly?”

  Cam shot a glance at the old physicist resting nearby. “I actually have no idea.”

  As the USS Oklahoma City pulled her anchor and set out for Pearl Harbor, a small team of Navy medics gathered upon the castaways and began a series of preliminary physical exams. Cam held out his arm as a young sailor checked his blood pressure.

  Once the bandage on Michael’s left hand was unwrapped, he was quickly whisked off to the sick bay, where he was prepped for an immediate amputation of what remained of his pinky finger.

  Another medic sat behind Marco and pressed a cold stethoscope against his back. After confirming a healthy heartbeat, the medic moved on.

  “Will I ever see my family again?” Cam asked him.

  “Of course,” Marco replied. “Someday.”

  “Someday? Someday when? I never agreed to that. I can’t miss out—”

  “You won’t miss anything, Cameron,” Marco assured. “You will see your family again.”

  “Soon?”

  “Maybe not soon enough for you, but soon enough.”

  “That won’t work,” Cam panicked. “I have to kill Carson. He’s going to come after my girls. My wife! I can’t let that happen. We have to go back.”

  “Your wife and children will be safe, this I can assure you.”

  “Then I’ll go find him here. He’s probably a teenager now, I can track him down.”

  “Cameron,” Marco struck. “This situation is many things. What it is not, is an opportunity to alter history. It doesn’t work like that, and the results would be catastrophic. In time, you will learn that your feelings must be cast aside. Unfortunately, Carson needs to exist—he’s just another tiny piece of a grander purpose. And even if you try and change that reality, the universe will simply course-correct itself. There’s nothing you can do to turn order back into chaos. Carson will never harm your family, and I promise your chance at revenge will come.”

  “And Rook?” Cam implored. “How can you let the murder of one of your Knights go unchecked? The device was meant for him, not me.”

  Marco knew that the truth wasn’t going to come easy. “Rook’s entire purpose in life was to make sure the device continued on its path—the way it has always been intended. The Medina Device w
as never meant for him. It was meant for you. It was always meant for you.”

  “So, we’re the four mystery men who showed up in ’62 in the middle of the Pacific. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I couldn’t. It was all part of your master plan.”

  “What master plan?”

  “The one you will meticulously develop,” he replied with a smirk. “Please understand, Cameron, I’ve committed my life to preserving and protecting the secrets of mankind. History has already been written, you cannot simply rewrite it. There was never a choice, bringing you here has been the ultimate mission of the Knights since its inception.”

  “How do you know I was meant to be involved in this?”

  Marco looked up at his Grand Master, finding irony in the fact that he himself was now so old, yet Cameron was so young. He’d always remembered it the other way around.

  “You’ve been involved since the very beginning,” the physicist admitted. “You’ve been protecting the Medina Device for thousands of years. Only, it hasn’t happened yet. But you have a long journey ahead. There’s much work to be done.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “Soon you’ll meet a younger version of myself,” Marco reminisced. “Unfortunately, the man you see before you won’t be there. But when we meet again for the first time, I promise we’ll work out all the details.”

  Marco sat up from the deck and stood beneath the hot sun, soaking in the warmth, rejuvenating his spirit.

  Nearby, Rand completed a rudimentary vision exam and was quickly released by the medics. He walked over and took a seat next to Cam.

  “I really can’t believe this,” he muttered. “I guess I can’t arrest you for those robberies.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because, apparently, you guys haven’t committed them yet. In fact, the Wynn won’t be built for another forty years. So, you’ve got some time.”

  “I’m really sorry for dragging you into this,” Cam confessed with a heavy heart.

  “I wasn’t meant to die at some monument in Paris,” Rand envisioned. “I think I like this better.”