Winston Chase- The Complete Trilogy
Page 80
“He won’t help. Are you even thinking this through? As soon as we tell him the plan, he’s going to laugh his butt off and then figure out a way to kill me along with everybody else.”
Bernie sighed.
“The geo pieces.”
“No. Bernie, there’s no way he’s going to just hand the geo pieces over!”
The corners of Bernie’s mouth gave the barest curl upward.
***
The waves rolled in one by one to crash over the black rocks far below. White foam lay in a thick band across the surf as dark, long-legged birds stood upon stones in the shallows, patiently gazing into the water for a chance treat.
As he sat at his restaurant table far above, a particularly strong Mai Tai in one hand, Bledsoe reflected on how much he resembled those birds. Just sitting here, waiting…and waiting. Fate might deliver a next meal to him or leave him to starve. His entire life had built to this moment, and now he had nothing to do and nowhere to go. He felt utterly powerless. The boy had denied him total victory, and, to Bledsoe, that felt like defeat.
His waiter appeared at the table. A white apron lay against black slacks. The man held a small spiral notebook against his apron with one hand and tapped at its cover with a red pen.
“May I get you anything else, sir?” the waiter asked, doing a passably polite job of hiding his annoyance.
The rest of the patio thrummed with finely dressed couples and families. The King’s Point was reputed to be the finest restaurant on the south shore of Kona. Without a doubt, the view was spectacular. Bledsoe had a 270-degree panoramic view of the Pacific, with only a smattering of clouds spread like gauze across the far horizon. A hint of ocean salt wafted on the steady breeze. The place radiated peace and aching beauty.
Bledsoe had arrived sometime around three o’clock, when the patio was all but empty. Three hours later, Bledsoe still monopolized a valuable table that might otherwise be fetching hundreds of dollars. He sat, sipping his drinks ever so slowly, waiting like a bird for the world to revolve and offer him a tidbit from the sea.
“What do you say?” he asked the waiter. “Should we mix things up a bit?”
The man appeared hopeful. “Certainly, sir. Are you ready to order dinner?”
Bledsoe offered a thin smile. “Nah. But how about this time we make it a…” He glanced at the cocktail menu on the table. “a Kona Coffee-Tini? Heavy on the tini.”
The waiter kept his eyes blank, but he couldn’t hide the twitch in the corners of his mouth. He took a deep breath and lifted his notepad, then decided against writing on it. “Heavy…tini. Yes, sir.”
Bledsoe’s smile widened as the man glided away. He knew he shouldn’t take pleasure in such trite things. Oh, well.
He had always wanted to travel to Hawaii. Long, long ago, he had fantasized about bringing Amanda here on their honeymoon. Wasn’t that what couples were supposed to do? Travel to Hawaii? Then hit Disneyland five or six times with the kids?
That obviously hadn’t happened. After Area X, Bledsoe had thrown himself into his work with single-minded determination. Even through the long years of drone-like laboratory research, he had never seriously thought about finding someone. When his plans came to fruition, he would have his pick of anyone in the world.
As if there was anyone else worth having.
If Bledsoe were being totally honest with himself, he might be a bit morose about killing Amanda. He knew it didn’t really matter. Once he had the complete Alpha Machine, he could dive back in time and scoop her up in any year he pleased. Nothing that came after that would matter, since he would remake the intervening history from scratch. However, something about the act of killing her bothered him in a way he couldn’t describe. It irritated him like the smallest bit of straw poking through the fabric of his clothes.
Or maybe it wasn’t that he had killed her. Perhaps it had more to do with the fact that she had defied him, spurned him, and never repented.
Next time. It would be different next time.
He raised his glass to his lips and felt ice cubes chill his upper lip in sharp contrast to his sun-roasted face. The alcohol burned the back of his throat, and his head wobbled with the unmistakable looseness of having imbibed too much on an empty stomach. Bledsoe drained the glass and set the tumbler down on the tabletop. He absently ran a fingertip around the circular lip.
The two Alpha Machine pieces lay on his lap under his napkin. He supposed he should at least get some sort of bag to carry them in, as Winston had done. Otherwise, the temptation was simply to keep one hand on them at all times and wander the world in that strange second version of reality. Bledsoe knew that was a dangerous path. He could get lost looking for anywhere to be except where he was — infinite possibilities, and all of them offered a distraction from figuring out what he should do next.
A pair of sandpipers flew past, one pecking at the other, both squawking in some inscrutable argument. Bledsoe remembered a snippet of childhood wisdom that said every seventh wave was larger than the others. He tried to find the pattern in the sea before him and could not.
And that, in a nutshell, is life, he thought.
The rhythmic whisper of the waves shifted. The sound rose quickly and became something like an electronic hum. Bledsoe sat up straighter. His hand had been halfway to his glass, and now it hung suspended in midair, waiting. The tone spread from one ear to the other, rose slightly, and then abruptly cut off.
Bledsoe slumped back in his chair as relief flooded through him. He hadn’t heard that voice since 1948, but it was impossible to forget. The tide would now turn. The sea had delivered its bounty to him, after all.
“Yes,” he said, then remembered that he didn’t have to speak out loud.
Bledsoe chuckled to himself. This time, he did reach for his glass and took a nice long draft as his sluggish mind worked to assimilate this new situation.
He took a large mouthful of Kona Coffee-Tini and enjoyed the mixture of ice and fire down his throat.
Bledsoe only wanted one thing, and he was sure they would object immediately. Beyond that, he had no idea what to request. But…first things first.
That was true. He’d been born on the floor in his parents’ bedroom.
Bledsoe paused, mouth partly open, eyes wide as he stared at the sea. Then, heedless of the many guests sneaking nervous glances his direction, he burst out laughing.
That took the force out of Bledsoe’s guffaws.
Bernie spoke up.
The admission was so unexpected that Bledsoe found himself momentarily speechless. he finally managed.
Bledsoe couldn’t believe it. Could he possibly be so drunk as to imagine all this? He stood and found a straight line to follow in the pattern of hexagonal patio tiles. He set one foot in front of the other. Sure, he felt a bit tipsy, but he could clearly walk a straight line.
Oh, you sly, slimy bugger, thought Bledsoe. You know there’s no way I could refuse. After all, am I just going to keep sitting here drinking the years away?
Still, Bledsoe had learned though many years of dealing with bureaucracy to be careful before entering into an agreement.
Through the Alpha Machine, no doubt. The little snot was implying that this was a two-way process, a fact which Bledsoe already knew but hadn’t been able to employ once Winston had jumped into the past.
Bledsoe pulled his two Alpha Machine rings from his pocket and began slowly walking back to the restaurant. His parents had always cautioned him to use the restroom before a trip, and this would be no exception. As the pieces hovered and started to rotate over his hand, several patio guests gasped and stared. He winked at one little boy who gaped at the spinning rings as ketchup crept down the corner of his mouth.
“Magic,” said Bledsoe. The boy nodded, and as soon as Bledsoe had passed, he heard the youngster telling his parents how much he wanted to do that.
If only you knew, kid.
As he walked, Bledsoe let that second reality push into his regular vision. The tightness formed in the back of his head. He thought about Winston as he released the crosshair controls and imagined himself going to wherever the Chase boy now stood. The second world blurred by, and Bledsoe had to watch his feet to keep from stumbling. However, by the time he was through the restaurant’s back door and standing in line for the restroom, the controls had fallen still.
Of course, the location should not have surprised Bledsoe at all. The map centered on a position out in the middle of New Mexico’s desert, a place where the nearest cold drink would be over thirty-five miles away and nobody would ever want to visit. Bernie and Winston stood before a familiar rock overhang. Bernie wore that same terrible blue jumpsuit, and Winston had his Alpha Machine pieces spinning inside that other device’s silver tubes.
Bledsoe moved up to second in line. The dark-suited man before him remained firmly head-down in his phone.
Bledsoe ignored the question.
Without missing a beat, Bernie said,
Just like that, Bledsoe went from feeling informed to being the outsider trying to glimpse through the keyhole into whatever was going on. Omega Mesh? This time period?
Rather than look dumb, he waited for Winston to follow with another question. He didn’t, though, which meant the boy had already been filled in, probably by Bernie. Bledsoe hated being the last guy in a room to have vital information.
Again, the Chase boy cut him off.
Touché, thought Bledsoe.
said Bernie.
The restroom opened. A man came out, and Bledsoe advanced to stand before the door.
said Bernie.
Bledsoe saw Winston’s head turn to face Bernie, and the look on his face showed that he thought Bernie had overplayed the demand. That was good. That meant they needed him and were afraid he’d say no. So, he really did hold more cards than he suspected, even if he didn’t know which cards they were yet.
He waited until Winston started to pace and look nervous.
Bledsoe sighed.
Winston made a fist with his free hand and extended his middle finger, waving it in a circle at the surrounding hills, and the anger on his face did Bledsoe’s heart good.
Bernie waited, and soon Winston grew still. He stared at the ground and said in a low, constrained voice,
Bledsoe grinned widely.
Winston rolled his eyes, opened his mouth to make some new smart aleck comment, and then bit it off.
Good boy.
He would be fun to break. Like a headstrong dog.
22
Area X Assembly
Bledsoe materialized before Winston in a shower of sparks. It was the first time Winston had witnessed a translation, as Bernie called it, from the outside. The spectacle didn’t disappoint. Admittedly, it wasn’t the storm of lightning and vortexes and whooshing he had come to expect from sci-fi movies, but it sure beat even the best legal fireworks one could buy in Oregon. The shower formed from a point about seven feet above the ground, gushing blue and white sparks in a complete circle so bright and dense, even under the daytime desert glare, that Winston had to squint when looking at it. Strangely, the phenomenon was almost completely silent. Winston expected hissing or sizzling, but there was only a faint sound, as of air being forced through a narrow tube.
After three seconds or so, the singular origin of the sparks shut off. Whatever was already in the air fell to the dust and quickly extinguished, leaving Devlin Bledsoe standing there, face flushed and eyes darting all about. He searched the desert in every direction, which made no sense, because Winston knew he could see the entirety of Area X from one horizon to the other before making the jump. The man’s eyes, at first wide and wary, narrowed and focused on the two of them as his suspicions faded.
“Well, it beats flying,” said Bledsoe.
His tie had vanished, and the top button of his white shirt was undone, but he retained his jacket and slacks. Unlike in their first meetings, Bledsoe’s dark hair was somewhat disheveled. Winston wondered when the last time was the man had showered, then realized that he himself hadn’t done more than a quick spruce-up
since visiting his father’s house in 1968 Astoria. Winston fought the urge to sniff himself. He wasn’t a particularly sweaty or smelly kid, but everything had its limits. Hopefully, QVs also healed pit stink.
Bledsoe glanced beyond Winston into the shadows of the Area X parking lot. Winston noticed that the black Alpha Machine ring and torus still spun above his hand.
Bledsoe asked, “So, when’s the part where Command One and his enforcer squad come out to grab me?”
His mental speech might have been fine moments ago, but Winston thought he detected a slight slur in the man’s voice.
Bledsoe examined the sky, which was now a flawless expanse of pale blue punctuated by the white sun. His face scrunched as he considered it.
“Do we just stand here like idiots and work on our tans? Because I have a question.”
Bledsoe took a few slow steps, still wary and unwilling to get closer to them. He kept the Alpha Machine pieces spinning and ready to jump.
“Before young Winston and I parted ways recently, two men appeared out of nowhere to meet me. We were a few miles from here.” He gestured toward the west. “That way.”
“Was that before or after you tried to shoot me?” Winston asked.
Bledsoe brushed right past his remark. “As I was saying, two nicely dressed men approached me. No doubt, they were from Management. Interestingly, neither of them had an Alpha Machine, but one man did have a voice recorder. Imagine my surprise when he played me a message allegedly from 1954 — featuring yours truly. “
Winston was intrigued. This was a part of Bledsoe’s tale he didn’t know.
“Maybe, in that time, you’re the only person willing to talk to you.”
Feigning boredom, Bledsoe addressed Bernie. “As my servant, am I at liberty to duct tape a tennis ball in his mouth?”
Bernie gazed at Bledsoe and blinked, as if seriously considering the question.
“I’m just warming up.”
“Fine, I’ll ask!” Winston said. “What did the message say?”