by Bob Avey
Martin could not have choreographed the play any better, but he was further surprised at what happened next.
Conley remained on the floor, dazed into partial submission, and no one, not even the other agents, moved. For what seemed a long, quiet moment, everyone just stood there staring, caught in a cloud of disbelief.
While not completely grasping the situation, Martin walked over, scooped up the fallen weapon, and then aimed it at the crowd. “Von Neumann, Bielek, Cameron, go toward the elevator. Everyone else, keep your hands where I can see them and move to the east wall.”
It was then, while Martin held everyone at bay, that all hell broke loose.
It took Martin a few moments to realize what was happening, but when a chunk of concrete fell from the ceiling and crashed like a rogue meteorite onto the floor, it all became crystal clear. Another tremor had rumbled through the compound, and it was a bad one.
Von Neumann scrambled to his feet, helped Al Bielek and Duncan Cameron up, and then shepherded them toward the elevator.
Martin stumbled forward. He had to reach the elevator before the doors closed. He knew that much, but the chaos had clouded thinking.
Von Neumann reached the elevator and shoved Bielek and Cameron into the car.
Images of a calendar, showing the date of February 23, 2014 blossomed in Martin’s mind. He narrowed the distance between himself and the elevator. He was now only a few steps away, but the door had already begun to close.
He decided upon one big lunge toward the door. He thought he could make it, wedge himself into the gap between the doors and hope the government elevator would have safety measures in place to keep late entrants from being crushed, or even worse, caught halfway in and halfway out and be dragged along that way.
He put the thought out of his mind and lunged.
That’s when Captain Conley stepped in front of him.
Martin’s momentum, which was substantial since he’d set his sights on the door and not the obstacle, slammed him hard into Conley.
The big man stumbled but quickly regained his footing.
Martin felt the .45 in his hand. He had somehow hung onto it, and he used the time to tighten his grip and aim. If the door closed, all would be lost. Even if he subdued the big man and reached the elevator, it would have already left, and he would not know on which floor the time machine was located. He didn’t even know if he could operate the elevator without some key or authorization code.
He didn’t have time for words or orders. He aimed just above Conley’s head and squeezed off two rounds.
The big man ducked and rolled.
Martin stumbled forward, but strong hands grasped the fabric of his jumpsuit and dragged him back.
He twisted around and brought the barrel of the .45 crashing down into Conley’s arm.
Cameron and Bielek rushed forward, tore Conley’s hands free, and pulled Martin inside.
The door closed, and the elevator jolted downward. They were going to make it.
Martin gathered his scrambled thoughts. He had to convince Von Neumann of what was happening, and he had little time.
“Doctor Von Neumann, there’s something you need to know. The feelings of deja vu experienced by Captain Conley and the others are not just feelings but real memories. All of this has happened before.”
“He’s right, Doctor Von Neumann. Duncan and I remember it too.”
Von Neumann rubbed his forehead but said nothing.
“We have to hurry,” Martin said.
Von Neumann nodded. He was coming around.
“Your efforts proved successful the first time, but you have to do it again. You need to send Al and Duncan back to the Eldridge to shut down the generators.”
“That much I understand,” Von Neumann said. “But what about you?”
The same thought had crossed Martin’s mind as well. “When Al and Duncan shut down the generators during the hyperlink, the time tunnel closed. It was like none of this ever happened. We’re standing here now because my being sent back to 1943 ripped it open again.”
Von Neumann stood straight, gathering his composure. “How do I know I can trust you? Maybe you’re just a lunatic, or someone Conley put up to this. He’s been trying to sabotage me from the start.”
“Please listen to him, Doctor Von Neumann. He speaks the truth.”
It was Al Bielek again. “I feel it all the way to my soul.”
A dark expression crawled across Von Neuman’s face.
Martin fished the paper on which he had written the date of February 23, 2014 from his pocket then gave it to Von Neuman. “After you send Al and Duncan back to the Eldridge on August 12, 1943, you must transport me to that exact date,”
Von Neuman studied the paper. “I thought you said you were from 2020.”
The elevator jarred to a stop, and the doors hummed open.
Martin stepped from the elevator into darkness, a chasm of a room, he suspected from the echoing sound of his footsteps. “Is this where we need to be?”
“It is the area where the machinery for the time portal is kept.”
“We need to get started,” Martin said. “Where are the lights?”
Von Neumann shuffled along, feeling the wall with his hands. Suddenly, he stopped and began flipping a set of switches. When nothing happened, he said. “Conley must have anticipated our intentions and cut the power.”
Keeping close to the wall, Al and Duncan came over to where Von Neuman and Martin were standing near the switches. “Conley knows we’re down here,” Duncan said, “he’ll come after us. We need to go to another section and find a place to hide.”
Martin put one hand on Von Neuman’s shoulder and the other on Duncan Cameron. “That’s not an option,” he said, “and we all know it. We have to get to the time portal.”
“The machinery won’t work,” Von Neuman said. “Not without power.”
Martin released his grip and then turned and began walking into the darkness. “What about a backup generator? There has to be one. Just give me some direction. When we get to the portal, it’s all on you, Von Neuman.”
“But Conley is a smart man. He will have thought of that as well.”
“Just get us there,” Martin said. “We’ll think of something.”
Von Neuman shook his head but stepped forward and took the lead. Several minutes later, the smell of burned rubber and overheated copper filled the air. “This is it,” he said. “Be careful where you step.”
Von Neuman made his way into the midst of machinery and then began flipping switches. “Just as I suspected. The entire floor has been shut down.”
“Where’s the backup? Martin asked. “And what about a flashlight? There should be one around somewhere.”
Von Neuman rifled through some drawers and cabinets. A few seconds later, a beam of light came from the instrument, lighting up sections of the room where it was pointed.
Martin followed the beam and stopped near the machinery illuminated by the light. “Is this it?”
“It is,” Von Neuman said. “But surely you don’t expect it to work?”
Martin grasped a large, lever-like handle and glanced back.
Von Neuman nodded.
Martin shoved the lever downward and stepped back.
With a loud hum and flickering lights, the machinery came to life.
Martin strode across the room, stopping near the machinery where Von Neuman, Al, and Duncan all exchanged glances. He grabbed the material of the shirts worn by Al Bielek and Duncan Cameron then urged them forward. “Where’s the portal?” he
asked. “We have to send these two back to the Eldridge.”
Von Neuman motioned with the light, letting it shine on a part of the machinery resembling a small, arched portico.
Martin shrugged. “Step inside, my friends. We must do this. It’s the only viable option.”
“It’s too easy,” Von Neuman said. “Conley would never be so careless.”
Martin pushed Al and Duncan into the portal. “Just do it,” he said. “Set the date and throw the switch.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“Do whatever you have to do but do it now before it’s too late.”
Von Neuman sat in a swivel chair and began maneuvering around a console, glancing occasionally at the portal.
Soon, bolts of lightning arced and streaked inside the portal. Seconds later, Al Bielek and Duncan Cameron faded, and suddenly the portal was empty. Von Neuman had done it.
Martin’s mind hesitated, but his reflexes ignored the warning. He scrambled into the portal. “Do it now,” he said. “Reset the date and send me back.”
Von Neuman swiveled around and again busied himself along the console. That’s when the lights inside the room flashed on.
Captain Conley and several of his henchmen swarmed over and formed a circle around the area, their weapons drawn. Half of them aimed at Martin, and the others aimed at Von Neuman.
“Well, what do we have here?” Conley said. “Looks like I was almost too late. I’m surprised at you, Von Neuman. Of all people, I thought you would catch on and understand what’s at stake here.”
“Throw the switch,” Martin said, raising his voice far above the other sounds in the room.
Von Neuman turned and reached across the console.
Conley and the guards reacted quickly. In a near simultaneous action, they steadied their .45’s and fired.
Von Neuman fell forward, his body slumping across the controls.
Fire belched from the weapons as the bullets left the barrels and came toward the time portal.
It shouldn’t have been possible, but nothing surprised Martin anymore. Hoping to avoid being shot, he fell to the floor of the portal.
The bullets sailed safely past him, but then pain arced through him, and everything went black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MARTIN
Near old warehouse in Tulsa, Oklahoma
Sunday, February 23, 2014, 7:00 a.m.
Someone came out of the darkness and approached, his feet crunching against the ground.
Martin’s best guess was that it was Captain Conley, but soon a shadowy figure appeared and stood motionless, staring down.
Martin rolled over to his knees and after several failed attempts finally got to his feet. His legs shook from weakness, and he feared he might go back down. “Where am I?”
The question surprised Martin. After all, he already knew the answer. He was still in the compound beneath Montauk, Island, though it was cold, much colder than before.
The shadowy person who stood in front of Martin hesitated and then said, “You’re an interesting person, Martin, one who never ceases to amaze me. Your determination is admirable, though I’m sorry it’s all to no avail.”
Martin recognized the voice, and as his surroundings came into focus, he realized he was not at Montauk Island. He glanced down at the gravel road and then scanned the area, seeing the old, chain-link fence surrounding the warehouse. Von Neuman had succeeded.
The intense pain in his left side drew his attention, and Martin instinctively reached down and touched the tender area.
Conley’s bullet had done the damage, but Jackson Stewart intended to finish Martin off. He had him, dead center in his sights.
Martin gathered his strength and steadied himself, standing as straight as possible. His chances of survival seemed slim, and even though he conjured up Grandpa Frank’s words of encouragement, the pep talk seemed to lose its steam in the moment. Losing blood had already weakened him. The only thread of determination he could wrestle from his mind was the knowledge of more being at stake here than his personal safety.
Martin decided to buy some time, possibly diffuse the situation. “I wish I could drag up some anger, Jackson, but the truth is I’m kind of glad to see you. When we met a few years ago at the college in Williamsburg during the political rally, we hit it off pretty well, wouldn’t you say?”
Stewart grinned. “I’ll admit you were an interesting kid. Unfortunately, the man you grew into is rather disappointing, spineless, and weak.” Stewart steadied his aim, zeroing in on Martin’s forehead. “And even if I did share your feelings, I couldn’t let such trivial matters stand in the way of destiny. I’m afraid your destiny doesn’t look all that promising at the moment.”
It occurred to Martin that he could attempt a time jump and arrive an hour earlier, but something told him he’d ended up at this time and place for a reason. Doctor Stewart had finished building the time machine, but he had yet to use it. It wasn’t miraculous that Martin knew that. It was intuitive. Now was not the time for running, not the time for hiding. And like a football quarterback tempted to rerun the previous play only to reject the idea at the last moment, he knew taking Doctor Stewart by surprise would not work the way it had with Conley.
“And what about you?” Martin asked. “After you’ve played your version of Adolf Hitler, then what?”
Stewart shrugged. “Well, I hesitate to afford you such a lofty status, but for the most part you are the only obstacle I’ve encountered. With you out of the way, the sky’s the limit, as they say.”
“Don’t be so sure. The trouble with your narcissistic socialistic goal, which thrives on extreme loyalism to the common goal, is that eventually someone will come along believing their loyalty to society is greater than yours, and suddenly the elite becomes the common threat, the hunter becomes the hunted.”
Stewart shook his head. “I must say I expected more from you than such melodramatic rubbish. If it’s any consolation, I wish there was another way. I really don’t want to kill you. Nonetheless, it’s time to get on with it. I’ve become a pretty good shot through the years. You’ll probably never know what hit you.”
Doctor Jackson Stewart’s rambling did nothing to decrease his attention. In fact, his eyes grew more intense.
Martin expected his life, as strange as it had become lately, to flash before his eyes, but that did not happen. The moment did not slow down to a crawl, allowing Martin time to think through his move, but sped up to a flash.
Martin hit the ground hard, rolled with it, and scrambled back up. As soon as he found his footing, he ran, not toward Stewart but away from him. He didn’t have time to think, only to act. As soon as he had some distance, he grabbed a handful of fencing and climbed, feet and hands pumping and thrashing until he topped it. He dropped to the other side and ran for the warehouse.
A short distance ahead, barely visible in the dim light, several silhouettes of animals bounced forward. Low guttural growls emanated from the pack.
It was the dogs Martin had encountered on his previous visit, and whether they were put there by Doctor Stewart or were nothing more than vicious strays didn’t really matter at the moment. The animals had one thing on their minds, and that was to take Martin down and rip him apart.
Martin did not turn away, did not slow down but like some crazed maniac continued his quick stride toward the warehouse, screaming at the dogs as if such a vain attempt might scare them away.
A stack of debris piled upon the tarmac just to Martin’s right caught his attention. He detoured toward the scrap heap and scooped up the first thing he could grab, something rough in textur
e but too light to do any damage. Martin flung the piece of wood toward the dogs and then fumbled through the scrap until he found something more substantial, a heavy but awkwardly angled piece of metal.
Grasping the metallic object with both hands, Martin continued toward the dogs, twirling like an Olympic discus thrower.
The heavy metal object connected solidly against the skull of the first animal and continued with momentum into the ribcage of another.
Martin didn’t stop to admire his handwork. He found the door to the warehouse and began beating on the padlock. When the door moved slightly, he kicked it open and stepped inside.
The barking of the dogs continued, louder than before.
In the dim light filtering through the dirty windows, Martin caught sight of an interior wall with a ladder attached. He tossed the heavy angle iron toward the sound of the pursuing animals and bolted for the wall.
The teeth of a dog closed around Martin’s calf muscle.
Panic shot through him, but he dared not give in to it. He took one more step before launching himself toward the ladder. When his hand closed around the metal rung, he uttered a prayer and then grabbed the next step.
Soon, the rungs disappeared, which meant he had reached the end of the ladder.
Martin ran his hand across the top of the interior wall to make sure there was a solid surface. Satisfied, he rolled onto the top and tried to catch his breath, panting like one of the dogs to drag air into his lungs. He had heard of dogs climbing ladders; he had even seen as much on television.
He cautiously rolled closer and peered over the edge.
The dogs were still there, but thankfully they didn’t seem to possess the skill of scaling ladders. Some of the dogs sniffed the ladder and the air around it while others simply plopped down for a rest on the cool, concrete flooring of the warehouse. The barking and growling had ceased. If the animals had acquired the skill of climbing ladders, they had not resorted to using it. Confident they had Martin trapped, forced to either come back down the ladder or starve to death, they waited patiently.