A Flight in Time (Thief in Time Series Book 2)

by Cidney Swanson

  “I don’t know,” admitted Jillian. “I’ve seen them up higher. That one is probably landing at the local airport.”

  “You have an aeroport? For aeroplanes?”

  “They have to land somewhere,” said Jillian, laughing. She shaded her eyes to look at the plane overhead. “The big ones normally fly at thirty to forty thousand feet in the air, although that plane isn’t nearly that high.”

  “Tarnation!” exclaimed Everett. “Thirty or forty thousand feet!”

  Jillian smiled.

  “What is the air like, so high up? Do you see the stars?”

  Jillian laughed. “No. You’d need a rocket ship for that.”

  Everett dropped his gaze at once and fixed his eyes on hers. “What is a rocket ship?”

  Two minutes into her (very rudimentary) explanation of rocketry, Jillian’s phone, vibing in her back pocket, interrupted them.

  Everett looked curiously over her shoulder again. “Your jeans are making noise.”

  “My phone,” she said, correcting him. “Oh.” She frowned as she read the message. “We need to go. Now.”

  She grabbed Everett by the hand and started running back to the house.

  65

  · KHAN ·

  Montecito, the Present

  Khan’s key to the basement didn’t work. It was maddening. He was absolutely certain that’s where the singularity device was. It was where he would put it, which must mean his double would have put it there, too.

  Why wouldn’t the stupid door unlock?

  He thought he heard something. Checking the time, he realized it must be his lawyer, Jesús Torres.

  Khan ran upstairs. After an initial handshake, Khan got straight to his burning concern.

  “I thought we could start with the basement,” said Khan, holding the front door open for Torres. “My lock seems to have been changed.”

  Torres frowned but didn’t say anything.

  “Or . . . we could step into my office. I assume there are forms to fill out, affidavits to sign, that sort of thing?” continued Khan.

  “I’m not going inside,” said Torres.

  “Why ever not?” demanded Khan.

  By way of response, Torres widened his stance and placed his hands on his hips, exposing a holster. An occupied holster.

  “You’re carrying,” said Torres. “I can see the bulge in the back of your waistband. Why would you bring a gun to a meeting with your lawyer?”

  Khan scowled. “I could ask you the same question,” he said.

  “You could. And I would tell you that I don’t know who you are, but you’re not my client, who has been missing for over a year and was recently declared legally dead.”

  Khan’s scowl deepened. “I’m not dead. I should think that much is obvious.”

  Torres said nothing, which was sincerely irksome. Khan wondered what had compelled his other self to hire so irritating a person. Probably the man’s ability to do his job well and on time. Khan tried to remove all traces of scowl from his face.

  “So,” said Khan, “since I am patently not dead, what do we need to do to stop the sale of the house or whatever it is you’ve been up to on my behalf?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t stop the sale,” Torres said slowly. “I don’t know who you are, but you are not Jules Khan, my former client.”

  “Of course I am,” replied Khan. The scowl insisted on putting in another appearance. “Why would you say something like that?”

  “Do you really want me to list my reasons? Personally, I think it would be better for you if you’d simply leave before it gets unpleasant between us. You do look like him, and that means you’re a relation, which means you and I might need to have dealings in the future.”

  “We’re having dealings right now,” snapped Khan. “I’m your client. I’m back from a yearlong health retreat, and I want my house back.”

  Torres was silent. The lawyer was incredibly good at not talking.

  “Why don’t you recognize me? It’s me, just without the wrinkles and the . . . the paunch.” Khan was punting on that one—he didn’t know if his older self had had a paunch or not.

  “You’re fifteen years too young to be my client,” Torres said patiently. “No matter how good your health retreat was. I strongly advise you to stop this little charade now. Are you willing to tell me who you really are?”

  “Jules Khan, dammit!”

  Again the silence. Followed by a simple statement. “That’s impossible.”

  “How can you—”

  Torres raised his hand, palm forward. “I’ll stop you right there. I’m going to give you some free advice, and trust me when I say that lawyers don’t like to give free advice. I don’t believe you are who you claim to be because there isn’t a doctor on earth who could have regrown the missing portion of your right pinkie finger.”

  Khan felt the color draining from his face. He pulled his right hand behind his back. Instantly, Torres drew his weapon.

  “Hands where I can see them, please,” said Torres. The man was cool as Kahlúa on ice.

  Khan shifted his right hand forward, stuffing it in his pocket instead of exposing it to view. “I wasn’t pulling a gun on you. You’re my lawyer, for Chrissakes.”

  “As I was saying, you aren’t missing any of your pinkie finger. You’re at least fifteen years too young. The fact that you are nonetheless persisting in your claim is very disturbing.”

  “I’ve got a driver’s license. It proves who I am.” He whipped his wallet out.

  “A driver’s license proves nothing,” said Torres. “And before you go waving it around, I would strongly advise you to consider exactly how well that license is going to stand up to careful analysis. Now then, while I don’t think the evidence points to you as Khan’s murderer, I promise I won’t be the last person to state that you would be the one who stands to gain the most from his death. Put in a claim that you are Jules Khan, and you could end up charged with murder.”

  “I’m not lying,” insisted Khan. And he wasn’t. He wasn’t! This was maddening.

  “I’m going to say it again,” said Torres. “Go. If I find you here again, we’ll let the police settle the matter of your identity. Or possibly the FBI.”

  Torres took several steps to the side, inviting Khan with a sweeping gesture to depart down the drive.

  “I’ll get another lawyer,” threatened Khan.

  “You do that.”

  “I’m taking my car,” said Khan.

  “The house and its contents have been inventoried,” said Torres. “If anything turns up missing, you will be the first person implicated. Do I make myself clear?”

  “It’s my car,” said Khan.

  Furious, Khan began walking to the garage he’d passed earlier. There had better be a car in there. And it had better be in working condition. He pulled the key ring from his pocket. There were several car keys. Good.

  He chose the Tesla—he’d read about those. Unfortunately this one wouldn’t start.

  “Stupid electric piece of junk,” he mumbled, searching for the keys to the Honda CRV on the other side of the garage. The Honda, fortunately, started just fine.

  How was he supposed to have known his doppelgänger was missing part of a finger? It wasn’t too late; if he lopped off part of his pinkie now, it would just be Torres’s word against his . . . He shuddered at the thought of intentionally disfiguring himself, but he would do it to get his hands on what was his.

  And then, as he pulled out of the gate, he laughed. He didn’t need the stupid house with its stupid pillow collection or any of the rest of it. So long as he secured the singularity device, he could use the device to obtain everything he wanted and more. He wouldn’t be stuck in Santa Barbara either, thank you very much. He could live wherever he pleased, acquiring as much wealth as he pleased.

  He knew exactly what he needed to do. And Heaven help anyone who got in his way.

  66

  · JILLIAN ·

  Mon
tecito, the Present

  Jillian and Everett walked back to her house, where she found that DaVinci, Halley, and Edmund had already returned and were speaking with Littlewood in the library.

  “Oh, good,” said Halley, smiling at Jillian. “Wait till you hear the news.” She turned to Littlewood. “Tell them.”

  Littlewood spoke. “Well, it seems Khan presented himself to Torres for inspection, and Torres wasn’t buying it.”

  “That’s good news,” said Jillian.

  “It gets better,” said DaVinci.

  “He told, er, Khan that if he persisted, he might end up charged with murder,” said Littlewood. “Which should put Khan in a much more sensible frame of mind. I’m grateful for that. Although . . . hmm. Maybe I should make a quick call and get the locks changed on my lab . . .”

  “Did the lawyer say anything about the time machine?” asked DaVinci.

  “Oh, yes,” said Littlewood. “Sorry. I’ve just been so preoccupied with what things will be like between myself and Khan when we return to Florida—well, never mind about that.”

  Jillian’s stomach did a little flop. She was more than a little concerned about Littlewood’s safety once he and Khan were in Florida again.

  “Anyway,” continued Littlewood, “Torres said I can have a year to find proof substantiating my claim to the equipment, but I need to deposit twenty-five thousand dollars in an escrow account if I want to take possession prior to producing proof.”

  Jillian spoke. “I might be able to find something in Khan’s laptop substantiating correspondence between the two of you—”

  “You have his laptop?” asked Littlewood. “Wait—don’t answer that. Plausible deniability.”

  “Right,” said Jillian. “Okay, I’ll only add that I’ll help you if I can. Although, didn’t you tell me the equipment was worth fifteen thousand?”

  Littlewood looked glum. “Yes, but I have no choice except to pay twenty-five. It’s worth a great deal more to me to ensure it remains under lock and key.”

  “Um,” said DaVinci, “sorry, but am I the only one who thinks it is a really bad idea for Khan to have access to a time machine or two back in Florida?”

  “The machine in Florida,” said Littlewood, “can only be operated by me. It is equipped with a retinal scan so that no one else can use it. I’ll have to do something similar with this new one.” He shifted uncomfortably.

  “You could leave the second machine here,” said Jillian. “There’s plenty of room in our west wing.”

  Littlewood frowned.

  “You don’t have to decide now,” said Jillian. “But you’re welcome to haul it over here until you figure out something safer.”

  Littlewood sighed heavily. “I’ll think about it. It doesn’t matter if I can’t come up with another ten thousand dollars.”

  Jillian looked out the large window to where the stables were just visible. Hmm . . . Jillian knew how she could raise cash fast. And it wasn’t like Bucephalus would object . . . She sighed. Her neighbor’s mule was about to get lucky.

  Turning to Littlewood, she said, “I think I can offer help with the balance, too.”

  67

  · KHAN ·

  Goleta, California, the Present

  Khan found what he was looking for in a used car lot not too far from where he’d lived in Isla Vista as a UCSB student. He traded the CRV for a full-size van with no windows and only fifty-six thousand miles on it. He had no idea if he’d made a good trade, and frankly, he didn’t care. He needed a van, not a Honda. He had decided to wait until night fell before reentering the property—his property, and he’d managed to pull a crew together who were willing to meet him there and work from ten until midnight for $200 apiece. Khan certainly wasn’t doing the heavy lifting himself.

  Now all he had to do was wait. After driving aimlessly for an hour, he decided to return to Montecito to see if Torres had left. Khan couldn’t imagine he would have hired the sort of lawyer who had nothing better to do with his time than sit in Montecito, keeping watch over a former client’s house.

  To be safe, Khan left the van half a mile down the road and climbed the stucco wall surrounding his estate using the oak branches he’d observed earlier for a bit of assistance. The area was so quiet. Even the road had been deserted. Perhaps that was why his twin had settled here. Jumping down on the other side of the enclosure, Khan began to walk toward the garage. He’d decided that by hiding in the garage, he could observe the house without being observed himself.

  He had just settled in beside a window looking toward the house when he heard the unmistakable noise of a truck approaching. Lowering himself to keep out of sight, he watched as a small moving truck pulled past the garage and then parked in front of the house. Five college students piled out. What was going on? Was it a cleaning crew? A moving crew? They were dressed in jeans and flannel shirts, as if their job would be a messy one. Three of them were girls.

  Less than a minute later, two more cars drove up. Khan hid until they’d driven past the garage. When he judged it safe to look, what he saw made him swear. One of the cars belonged to Torres. The second vehicle had parked ahead of the truck, so Khan couldn’t see who was driving it. It didn’t matter. The only person that mattered was Torres.

  Khan consoled himself with the idea that if he waited until Torres and the others left, he would have the place to himself. He looked at the cars in the garage. Besides the Tesla, there was a BMW and something small and sporty. Oh my. A Ferrari. He chuckled.

  “Flashy, much?”

  He wouldn’t mind keeping the BMW. Maybe he could tow it behind his van . . . Probably not. He’d never seen a van towing a car. Besides, he could always buy a nice new BMW wherever he decided to settle down. He opened the driver-side door and sank into the cool leather seat. It even smelled good inside, like leather and polish. Khan tipped his head back and began imagining the life he would have twelve months from now.

  This was a great place to wait for nightfall. Khan felt very smug about having instructed his own crew to show at ten tonight. Everyone would be gone by then. He hoped. In the meantime, the leather seat was comfortable. He had nowhere better to wait things out, and he rather liked the opportunity this provided to spy on Torres. What was his lawyer up to?

  68

  · LITTLEWOOD ·

  Montecito, the Present

  Thanks to Jillian Applegate and her stallion, Bucephalus, Littlewood was able to fund the escrow account and take possession of the time machine. He was wasting no time getting it out of the basement, which would require splitting it into pieces small enough to go up the stairs.

  Fortunately, he knew exactly how to disassemble the machine because, well, he’d built the original. The first two and a half hours were devoted to breaking it down. After three hours, Torres confirmed receipt of the transfer of $25,000 and said his good-byes, leaving the group of six to finish without him. He’d been a real trooper, not afraid to get his hands dirty. The sort of lawyer Littlewood wouldn’t have believed existed if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

  Loading the van required care, too, since things might shift around. Littlewood had rented twenty-five blankets to keep the pieces from jostling one another on the drive to the Applegate estate. He hoped he wasn’t going to regret storing the machine there, but Jillian was two-fifths owner now, and the point was to keep it out of the wrong hands. Besides, really, what did he need with two time machines, especially considering he was going to have to go back and deal with a very disappointed (and possibly hostile) Jules Khan.

  Littlewood had been thinking a lot about how best to bring Khan around to seeing there were better ways of getting what you wanted. Littlewood was confident he knew what Khan truly wanted. Khan wanted recognition. This was more evident than ever to Littlewood after he’d read through Khan’s notes, through the documents Jillian had shared. The man loved science and wanted science to love him back. Preferably immortalizing his name along the way. Littlewood would point
out very sternly that this wasn’t going to happen if Khan pursued the Montecito estate rather than research. Then Littlewood would send Khan to the next international conference. Introduce him to people who mattered. Yes, he thought he knew how to handle an ambitious young genius like Jules Khan.

  The sun had set in brilliant oranges and pinks that night, and stars had just begun to appear in the purpling sky when Littlewood and his crew lifted the last piece of equipment into the moving truck.

  “Jillian is so paying for Swedish massage for all of us when we’re done,” said DaVinci.

  Littlewood smiled. DaVinci was quite the live wire.

  “A chiropractor visit for me,” said Halley. “Edmund will probably be happy with a tube of arnica cream.”

  They had just sealed up the back of the truck when Littlewood heard the crunch of gravel. Someone was approaching from the direction of the garage. Littlewood glanced and counted four of the five young people. Jillian was missing. Could it be her?

  He walked around to the other side of the truck to have a look.

  “Hello?” he called into the twilight.

  “Hello, Littlewood,” said a familiar voice. Khan’s voice.

  What was Khan doing here? Littlewood had a sinking feeling he knew why Khan was here. The singularity device. Thank goodness the machine was loaded and hidden inside the van. Thank goodness Khan had only now shown up.

  Littlewood had just finished that thought when he had another thought, which he spoke very loudly, for the benefit of the four who were still out of Khan’s view.

  “What are you pointing a gun at me for?”

  Khan glared at him with a malevolence Littlewood recognized all too well.

  69

  · KHAN ·

  Montecito, the Present

  Khan trained the gun on Littlewood, keeping his finger just under the trigger for now.

  “Here’s what is happening,” said Khan, his voice remarkably cool. “You and your moving crew are going to walk down to the basement with your hands clasped on top of your heads.”