by Bob Mayer
That bothered Nada. “You know a lot more about the Patrol than you’ve told us.”
“I know a lot less than Ms. Frobish,” Foreman said.
“I don’t think she remembers everything,” Moms noted.
“I don’t either,” Nada said.
Edith wasn’t paying attention. She clambered into the bucket and was signaling to the driver to be raised up so she could examine the mark.
Below her, Foreman, Moms, Nada, Scout, and Frasier waited.
“Oh dear!” Edith cried out.
“What is it?” Moms yelled up.
Edith was signaling to be let down. The hydraulic arms on the bucket loader brought her back to the ground.
Words bubbled forth from Edith. “This totally applies to the Needle. According to the message from one of our agents, Caesarion was not executed by Octavian, but lives!”
“Who is Caesarion?” Nada asked.
“The son of Julius Caesar and Cleopatra,” Edith answered. “At least that was Cleopatra’s claim. And Caesar did acknowledge him as son but not heir.”
“And this is bad why?” Moms asked.
Edith explained. “The agent reported from 26 BC, but that’s four years after Caesarion was supposed to have died. He’s alive and Pharaoh in Egypt, having struck a deal with Octavian. Octavian, who by 26 BC was now Augustus, Emperor of Rome.”
“Okay,” Nada said. “Lead with the headline. And?”
Edith stared at him in shock. “History is very different and going to get more so accordingly. Four years different when the agent etched this message. The fact there is no update to the message means that in that agent’s time, things had gone off course enough that he could not access the Needle. Or perhaps he no longer lived.” She barely paused to take a breath. “It could explain why, in your man Eagle’s history, the Lateran Obelisk was still in Egypt, never having been brought to Rome.
“The implications are staggering if this is left unchecked.” She looked at her watch. “We only have six hours to fix this. It’s just the beginning. It’s likely, if left unchecked, the obelisk will disappear and then . . .”
Moms held up a hand as Nada began to say something. “Six hours to fix something that’s already gone wrong for four years in the past?”
“Yes, yes,” Edith said. “That’s the way the Patrol works. Go back to the day Caesarion was supposed to have been killed, although I believe the exact date isn’t recorded. I’ll have to do research.” She closed her eyes in thought. “After the naval battle at Actium, when Antony was defeated by Octavian, he fled back to Egypt. Cleopatra was there with Caesarion, who she had claimed from birth was the son of Caesar and heir.”
“Was he?” Moms asked.
Edith waved off the question. “When Cleopatra received word of Actium, it is said she was preparing Caesarion to rule without her. Perhaps hoping she could go into exile with Antony, much like Lepidus did, and that Octavian would acknowledge both Caesarion’s legitimate claim to rule Egypt, which he indeed was as the son of Cleopatra, and his legitimacy as Caesar’s heir. Of course, it was the latter that caused Octavian to have him killed. That was very personal to Octavian because he had been tapped by Caesar as the true heir and that had allowed him to rise up to power in the wake of Caesar’s death. There’s a famous line that Octavian heeded—the words of one of his advisors—who said, ‘Too many Caesars is not good!’ A takeoff of a line from Homer.”
Edith shook her head. “But according to this report, Octavian did not take this advice. Caesarion rules in Egypt while Augustus, the name Octavian took as emperor, rules in Rome. Oh!” she exclaimed as something else occurred to her. “The way it was supposed to go was that when Octavian invaded Egypt in 30 BC, intent on finishing off Antony and Cleopatra, Caesarion, who was seventeen at the time, was sent by his mother to a Red Sea port, perhaps with the intention of sending him further away, maybe as far as India.
“Octavian captured Alexandria on the first of August, 30 BC, which history, our history, records as the official beginning of Egypt being part of the Roman Empire. Antony was already dead, having fallen on his sword. Cleopatra followed suit, via the asp, several days later. What followed isn’t exactly known. Some say Caesarion’s tutors betrayed him to Octavian. Plutarch wrote that Caesarion had made it to India but was lured back by false promises of the throne in Egypt. Some say he made it to Ethiopia and was tricked into coming back.”
“So he’s back and ruling,” Moms summed up. “And that’s bad?”
“Very bad,” Edith said. “Think of what might happen. Egypt, while a vassal of Rome, is being led by a true Pharaoh, who also has claims to the throne in Rome by the direct blood of Caesar, which some might think is a greater claim than that of Augustus. At the very least, Augustus’s enemies, and every Emperor has enemies, would use it as leverage. If it doesn’t explode into war between Augustus and Caesarion, their own heirs, Tiberius and whoever is the progeny of Caesarion, will undoubtedly cross swords, perhaps completely changing the course of the Roman Empire.
“And think of what else is going on in the world within one generation; perhaps the most pivotal moment in our history. The birth of Jesus in Israel, which is a Roman province, but with Egypt even closer. The ramifications could be staggering. Not just a ripple, but multiple shifts leading to a tsunami that will wipe our timeline out if left unchecked!”
“I flunked history in high school,” Scout lied, “and this is nice, but we have no way of going back to 30 BC and doing squat without the Patrol and the HUB.”
“Scout’s right,” Moms said. “We have to find out what happened to the Patrol. Let’s focus on the immediate problem and solve it. If we can find the Patrol, then they can do their job and fix this ripple.”
“I think,” Nada said, “we’re going to have to go through that gate in order to do that.”
“I agree,” Moms said.
“I need that bigger gun,” Scout said.
The helicopter was flying over southern New Jersey as Golden connected her phone to Hannah’s laptop and began to bring up the images she’d taken in Foreman’s office.
“The map,” Golden said. “I’d say that’s the key to everything. What concerns me is this.” She tapped the screen. “Foreman labeled this, which is anything but a triangle, the Bermuda Triangle. And it touches near Grand Cayman, where Neeley is.”
“A legend,” Hannah said.
Golden pointed. “Another legend. The Devil’s Sea. An area off the coast of Japan, south of Tokyo. It’s reputed to be like the Bermuda Triangle: a place where ships and planes mysteriously disappear with no trace. And here, Angkor Kol Ker. An ancient Cambodian city that was completely abandoned for no apparent reason a long time ago.”
“What’s the connection to the Patrol?” Hannah asked.
“I don’t know,” Golden replied. “Not yet.”
“Areas with unusual histories,” Hannah said.
Golden changed the picture. “I found three files of interest in his desk. There was a lot more there, but I didn’t have the chance to go through it all. The three were labeled: Sin Fen, Coyne, Ratnik.”
“Coyne first,” Hannah said. “That’s what Neeley went to the Caymans for. And now we see a connection with something else Foreman was interested in: the Bermuda Triangle.”
Golden scrolled through the photos. “Not much. Pretty much what we had, including our own surveillance reports after he was brought to our attention and the government’s surveillance before that. But this is interesting. Foreman indicates he began his interest in Coyne much earlier. Back in 2005. Right after Operation Red Wings.”
“That’s the mission Coyne mentioned to Roland,” Hannah said.
“Correct. Coyne was in Afghanistan at the time. In fact, he was at the airfield from which the recon team launched. And the ill-fated rescue mission.”
Hannah considered. “But he didn’t go on the rescue mission.”
“He didn’t. And,” Golden continued, “Foreman back-channe
led and got Coyne posted to the security detail for the Patrol. Via a double cut out. Of course, everyone getting posted to that highly classified assignment went through at least one cut out, because no one was supposed to know what those men were being assigned to guard.”
“But Foreman knew,” Hannah said.
“He did. And he made it happen.”
“So he wanted him there,” Hannah said. “He knew Coyne was unstable coming out of Afghanistan and because of his subsequent actions in his marriage. What else does Foreman have on Coyne?”
“The Request for Sanction originated with him.”
“Before or after Coyne went to Grand Cayman?”
“Right after.”
“But there was surveillance on Coyne by the government before.”
“Yes,” Golden said. “Requested by Foreman.”
“But no RFI until after he went to the Caymans and did whatever it is Foreman wanted him to do.”
“Exactly.”
Hannah sat back and considered that for a moment. “All right. Ratnik?”
“One page,” Golden said. “An elite, classified Spetsnaz unit of the Army of the Soviet Union. They were Spetsnaz, but detached for special duty.”
“Which could mean anything.”
“They were headquartered at Duga-3, also known as the Russian Woodpecker because of the intermittent signal it broadcast. Supposedly an over-the-horizon radar system developed during the Cold War to track missile launches at long distances. It had a very large metal array receiver, code-named by NATO as Steel Yard, located very near the Chernobyl nuclear reactor.”
That got Hannah’s attention. “Chernobyl? Ms. Jones came from there.”
“She did,” Golden said. “During her debriefs she never mentioned the Duga-3 array or a unit named Ratnik. Perhaps she knew nothing of them.”
“Perhaps,” Hannah agreed doubtfully. “So what was this Ratnik unit?”
Golden pointed at the screen. “Foreman knew very little. Formed in 1976. The unit disappeared around the time of the Chernobyl disaster in 1986. Which is to be expected. The array of Duga-3 is still there.”
“But the Ratnik aren’t,” Hannah said. “Where did they go? Why would Coyne mention them three decades later? Why would there be a body in the Met of a man with a Spetsnaz tattoo?” She didn’t wait for an answer as she supplied it. “The Ratnik were a Soviet Time Patrol or whatever they called it. Close by Chernobyl for the power.”
“Likely,” Golden agreed.
“The question is, what have the Ratnik been up to since 1986, and how did Coyne meet them?”
Golden had no answer to that.
“Sin Fen?” Hannah prompted as the chopper cleared the Jersey coast and headed for New York City over the Atlantic.
“Again,” Golden said, “one page.” She scrolled. “A page with just her name written on the top in what I assume is Foreman’s handwriting. And just two words: The Sight.”
“Curious,” Hannah said. “A puzzle, even for Foreman.”
“There’s one other thing of interest,” Golden said. She scrolled and brought up the image of the framed photo on Foreman’s desk.
Hannah stared at it, and then sighed, as if punched in the chest. The picture was black and white, grainy. There were three men standing in the back row, then at least a dozen seated in chairs in the middle row, and another dozen kneeling on the ground in the front row. The men were in front of a Quonset-type building in what appeared to be a desert environment.
Hannah leaned forward and tapped the screen as she identified the two men she recognized. “Foreman. And my predecessor, Nero. My secretary confirmed that Nero had met with Foreman several times. But I didn’t know he traveled to wherever this is.”
“It’s Area 51,” Golden said.
“Who are the others?”
“The man with them in the back row is Colonel Thorn. First commander of what we now know as the Nightstalkers.”
Hannah leaned closer to the screen. “And the ones in the chairs and kneeling? Some are Japanese.”
“Yes. And the rest are German. That’s the Odessa. The Nazi and Japanese physicists brought to Area 51 after the Second World War.”
Hannah looked at Golden. “The men who opened the first Rift.”
Doc didn’t look up from his laptop as Moms led the others in. “This cavern is shielded for muonic transmissions. That’s why the Can didn’t go off, has never gone off, when a gate opens in here.”
“Figured as much,” Nada said.
“How can you shield muons?” Eagle asked. “I thought they passed through everything?”
“I’m working on figuring out how they do that,” Doc said.
“Not a priority right now,” Moms said.
Roland and Mac were dispersed to either side of Doc. Roland had an M60 machine gun slung over his shoulder, opting for its heavier rounds (and weight) over his favored M249 Squad Automatic Weapon. In his hands he held an MK14 Special Operations Multiple Grenade Launcher. With a stubby barrel for 40 mm, it held six grenades in a spring-loaded revolver-type magazine. Mac had an M203. Both weapons were loaded with thermobaric rounds, and both men were focused on the door. Eagle was with Doc, providing close-in security with an M203. Each man also had an AT4 rocket launcher slung over his shoulder.
A ramp had been constructed leading up to the gate, and Doc was kneeling at the top, just a few feet away. Roland had been busy also, requisitioning weapons and gear from the Rangers. He had a four-wheel ATV with an MK19 grenade launcher mounted on a center pylon ready nearby, the rear loaded with ammunition. The MK19 was a 40 mm grenade launcher that fired on automatic like a machine gun.
“What’s on the other side?” Moms asked, Nada and Scout at her side.
“It ate my probe,” Doc said, reaching down and holding up a severed cord. “It’s eating every signal I send into it.” He finally looked up. “No clue.”
“Did the suit the Valkyrie was wearing have any sort of oxygen or filtration system for air?” Nada asked.
“It had a rebreather, but it was turned off,” Doc said. He knew what Nada was getting at. “We can’t assume the air on the other side is breathable, but it probably is.”
As Moms and Nada discussed the situation with Doc, Scout tugged on Roland’s sleeve.
“Yo?” Roland said, his eyes still on the door.
“Can I borrow you for a moment?” Scout asked.
Roland looked about, noted the other Nightstalkers in the cavern, all armed, and nodded. “What’s up?”
“I want to ask Frasier something,” Scout said, indicating the shrink who was part of and not part of the group, standing about thirty feet back from the door, by himself.
“Uh. Okay,” Roland said.
“I don’t think he’s going to want to answer,” Scout said. “I might need some help.”
Roland grinned at the thought of potential violence. “Sure.”
Scout walked over to Frasier.
“Hey, M.I.B.,” Scout said.
Frasier turned his sunglasses toward her. “Excuse me?”
“Nada’s my friend,” Scout said.
“Mine too,” Roland said, an imposing figure behind her right shoulder.
“And?” Frasier shook his head. “The block wasn’t my decision. I’m just the tool that—”
“You’re a tool all right,” Scout said. “Why can’t he remember it all?”
“I don’t know why he remembers any of it,” Frasier said.
“Who designed this block?” Scout asked.
“The scientists at Area 51,” Frasier said. “If they designed it at all. There’s always the possibility they reverse engineered it from something.”
“What do you mean?” Scout said.
“Duh,” Frasier mimicked with a pointed glance at Scout. He pointed at the door hovering over the floor of the cavern. “What do you think is going to happen to that suit that fellow wore? Where do you think it will end up? I imagine the Nightstalkers will be wearing somet
hing like it in a couple of years.”
“What happened to Nada’s wife and daughter?” Scout asked.
“They died,” Frasier said, and despite the sunglasses and the cold demeanor, Scout could sense he was bothered by something.
“How?” Scout asked.
“Listen, kid. I know you think you’re doing your friend a favor. Trust me on this. You’re not. On several fronts.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” Scout said.
Frasier removed his sunglasses, revealing his black eyeball. “I’m a psychiatrist. I know a bit more about how the mind works than you do, with your wonderful eighteen years of knowledge. And you too, Roland,” he added, shifting his off-putting gaze past Scout. “Nada doesn’t want to know how they died. And he doesn’t want to know his real history before the Nightstalkers. We did him a favor wiping parts of both of those.”
“He needs to know,” Scout said with a determination she didn’t quite feel any longer.
“Pretty much everyone,” Frasier said, “has some memory or memories they would like to erase. Forget about.” He shifted his gaze down to Scout. “If you don’t yet, you will. It’s part of getting older.”
“But aren’t those memories often tied to good memories also?” Scout asked. “The two entwined?”
“You can’t change—” Frasier began, but then he paused and looked past them at the gate. “Well, maybe the past can be changed. But not for personal reasons. It’s never that simple. Not like making sure Caesarion is dead when he’s supposed to be dead. That’s putting history back the way it’s supposed to be. Unchanging it.”
Scout didn’t move. Roland was at a bit of a loss, which wasn’t unusual for Roland when it didn’t involve shooting.
“Tell her,” Roland finally said.
“I’ll tell you this,” Frasier finally said. “Your buddy, Nada? He was a drunk and a sonofabitch to his wife and kid. He was about to be cashiered out of the service. When they died, something broke in him. And even though we wiped the memory, he became a different man. Memories aren’t emotions. Nada became a better man at a very high price. He was always a good soldier. Now he’s a good man. We just removed the memory of the cost. Isn’t that enough?”