by Rysa Walker
“Did you get Edna’s key?” Kiernan asks, glancing up at the clock near the doorway. It’s 3:27, still several hours before June told Simon to arrive, but less than a half hour from her estimate for his actual arrival. And that was her estimate before we started mucking around with the vials. We still haven’t felt any countershift, anything pushing us back to a previous timeline, but what if Simon gets—or got?—a call from Addis Ababa?
“Yes,” I tell him, “I got this key. But she must have had a spare. Are we sure she’s dead?”
“She’s dead,” June says, glancing toward Kiernan. “How on earth did you get that other vial, kiddo?”
Kiernan starts rummaging through the cabinets. June nods toward the one on the right. Once he has the gauze open, he answers her question. “When I saw we were in trouble, I jumped back to last night and set a stable point under the pews. Knocked the bloody hell out of my head trying to reach the vial. There’s a Templar who may have a broken toe, too.” He shoves the gauze and antiseptic into my hands. “Can you take over here? I need to see about—”
I nod, and he leaves to check on Other-Kate. Luckily June knows what I need to do, and she talks me through it. By the time I have her sleeve cut away, the wounds disinfected and packed with gauze, and the entire thing wrapped and in a sling, she’s looking about as faint as I feel. I’m sure she’s seen plenty of blood before, so she’s probably woozy from the blood loss and maybe a bit shaky from having taken a life. My reaction is from the sheer amount of blood, which has my mind skipping back to the floor of Julia’s office, the car seat beneath the guy’s head inside the blue van, Saul’s body in the tub, and the spray of blood that filled the air moments ago in the chapel at Addis Ababa. I’ve seen far more blood in the past few days than in all my previous seventeen years, and hopefully more than I’ll see in the next seventy.
Kiernan sticks his head back in, motioning to me. “We need to go. June, can you finish off this last tray with just the one arm?”
“I think so. Good thing I’m a lefty. Don’t know if I’ll still be able to handle that rifle, though.”
“You don’t need to. Kate, can you go forward—no, I mean back—and set a stable point in Bensen’s van when it’s parked outside the temple?”
“Uh . . . yeah, I guess. But I don’t have the location.”
“I have one set near the parking garage and another on the other side at the Cyrist Way entrance. Near the playground. I transferred them to your key.” I glance down at the key around my neck, confused, and he shakes his head. “No. That’s her key. Your key is still in the field extender. Swap out so that you’ll have all of your local stable points. Once you find the van, come back and get June and Kate out of here.”
“No,” June says. “I’ll stay. In case Simon comes back.”
“That’s why you need to go,” Kiernan says. “If he sees these vials—”
“When have you known Simon to hang around the clinic? He’ll pop into the room where your Kate is, and all he’ll see is me, wounded. I tried to stop you, and you shot me.”
“Unless he’s already spoken to someone in Addis Ababa,” he counters.
“It’s possible. But it’s damned hard to find a time traveler. Simon might have a message waiting for him somewhere, but it’s not like Edna’s people can phone him directly.”
Kiernan’s still shaking his head, and she finally says, “Leave me the stable point. If I need to escape, I will.”
I’m about to remind the two of them that his Kate is still attached to a hospital bed when I see her in the hallway. She’s dragging a rather large piece of plastic from her ankle. There’s a cuff attached to her wrist as well, but she’s mobile.
“How did—” I begin.
Other-Kate raises her eyebrows. “That would be Prudence.”
“She was at it when I went in, just before we jumped to New Delhi,” June says. “Three versions of Prudence, actually. At the same time with the same wrench.”
“I ended up closing my eyes because it hurt my head to watch,” Other-Kate says. “She kept talking to herself—herselves, I guess—the entire time. One of them blinked out just before they were done. The splinter thing you talked about, I think,” she says to Kiernan.
“Where is she now?” I ask.
“Gone. One of . . . her . . . said she’d see us later and jumped out. The other one picked up the tablet she’d been reading and waited in the chair for a few minutes until she finally disappeared. And . . .” She looks from Kiernan to me and back again. “I told Kier a minute ago, but you need to see this, too, because we don’t know what it means.”
She runs her fingers across the medallion and opens up the view in the field extender. It’s the Sixteenth Street Temple stable point we viewed earlier, the jump to get the final set of vials. The jump that Other-Kate and Conwell haven’t made yet.
I wait for a moment, expecting to see her jump in with Conwell like the last time we watched. They jump in, walk down the hallway, and enter a door. But nothing happens.
“Can you pull up the time stamp?” I ask.
“It’s the same time we watched before. Something’s changed.”
OUTSIDE THE SIXTEENTH STREET TEMPLE
WASHINGTON, DC
September 12, 9:12 p.m.
As soon as Bensen’s van passes the Lotus Lane entrance, I blink into the little niche outside the parking garage. They pass the entrance, pulling up to the curb maybe four or five car lengths from Seventeenth Street. I’m about to cross the street when I see Dad’s Subaru coming toward me. Connor is on the passenger side in the front. I give him a little wave from the bushes, and he rolls down the window.
Dad looks over, too, and they both ask, “What happened?” almost in unison. Connor nods at the skirt of the toga, which I’ve forgotten is a bit on the gory side.
“The blood isn’t mine,” I say for the second time in recent memory. “June, the doctor at Estero, was hit. Or it could be from the Templar in Addis Ababa. That jump . . . didn’t go so well. Dad, can you circle around Seventeenth to Cyrist Way . . . inconspicuously, if possible . . . and look for the walkway Charlayne was talking about? Then head back here. I need to check in with the others.”
As I approach Ben’s van, I see that the rear seats have been yanked out. Trey and Charlayne are sitting on the floorboard, backs propped against the other side.
“Are you two aware that it’s illegal to ride in the District of Columbia without a seat belt?”
Charlayne snorts and nudges the duffel with her foot. “Least of our problems if we get stopped, believe me.”
Just behind her are two contraptions with air tanks and a harness, strapped to what looks like a gigantic set of handlebars with a few extra bends along the way. Two motorcycle-style grips are attached to the ends, with silver levers extending parallel to each of the grips that look a little like hand brakes. I say a silent prayer of thanks that I never had to strap myself into that contraption, especially not while in the middle of a time jump.
Trey tugs at the edge of my toga, one eyebrow raised. “You okay?”
“Yes, it’s not mine. I’ll explain later.”
“And you got the vials?” Ben asks from the driver’s seat.
“The five sets that they’ve delivered, yes. Grabbed them and destroyed them. We still have no clue what’s up with the ones planned for North America. Simon must have them with him.” I set a stable point in the back of the van. “Can you two scootch over a bit? I need to bring someone else in.”
I blink out, and when I return, I’m dressed in my jeans and Dad’s sweatshirt again, another toga stuffed under my arm, in case I need it.
Other-Kate blinked into the van just before me. In retrospect, I probably should have warned Trey as to exactly who I was bringing in.
“I thought she was you for a moment—”
“Until he saw the baby bump,” she says, lowering herself awkwardly into a sitting position against the other wall.
“Well, to be
fair,” Trey says, “the handcuffs and the . . . is that a bed rail? Those were also clues.”
Her eyes give Trey a quick appraisal. “So is this who you chose over Kiernan?” The tone of voice isn’t quite dismissive, more curious, really. But there’s a hint of something in there that suggests she doesn’t believe she’d have made the same choice.
“Yes, he is,” I respond, moving a little closer to him as I shoot her an annoyed look. “Trey, meet Other-Kate. This is Charlayne, and the driver is Bensen. Fifth Column.”
Other-Kate isn’t looking at them, however. I don’t think she even hears them say hello. She’s staring out the passenger side window where Dad and Connor are approaching. Tears are already pooling up in her eyes. Although I want to keep this other me at arm’s distance emotionally, my heart goes out to her, because I know exactly what she’s feeling right now, and I know how much it hurts. It hasn’t been that long ago that I sat across a picnic table looking at the dad-who-wasn’t-my-dad in another timeline, who had two little boys instead of me. Does it make it any less painful for her to know that he’s my dad and I’m almost her? Somehow I doubt it.
I should have warned Dad and Connor, too, because they both look like they’ve taken a blow when they see her.
“Sorry,” I say. “I had to get her out of Estero. And she can help. She’ll be doing surveillance, watching some different locations to keep an eye out for Simon, and also monitoring the three stable points we have here—one inside the gym, one outside the parking garage, and the other over near the playground and employee lot. But once we get Katherine out here, someone needs to keep her and Kate apart. I think they’ve got the same key, and it might not be an issue, but . . .”
“It’s not an issue,” Other-Kate says. “Different person, probably a different time stamp for the key.”
“Fine. But is it worth risking it?”
She shrugs. “I’ll jump to the stable point near the garage when I see them coming and hide in the Gray Ghost.”
Dad nods, and there’s an odd expression on his face when she uses the car’s nickname. He shakes it off visibly, eyes moving from Other-Kate back to me. “We checked the employee lot. The walkway is there. Gated, but not guarded, about seven feet high. I think I could climb it. I’m certain Charlayne or Trey could. But it looks like there are surveillance cameras on that side.”
“Yeah, but the parking lot is open to the street,” Connor says. “Five cars still there, and the cameras aren’t pointing at the gate. Security could just think it’s someone leaving late.”
“So we try stealth first, but if security heads that way . . .” I look over at Charlayne. “Maybe create the diversion you mentioned back at the cottage?”
“We have it ready,” Charlayne says as Ben pops the rear gate of the van. “That’s why he parked so far down. The playground is shared between the temple and the day care center. It backs to Seventeenth. We’ll go over the fence and strap these puppies to two of the trees. I also have a few M-80s.”
“M-80s?” I ask.
Charlayne grins. “Cherry bombs. Hella loud.”
Bensen is at the back of the van now, pulling a black ski mask over his face. “Those are just to draw attention. I have a timer to start the motors—it’s the gadget Tilson and I were working on when we thought Kate might have to use these things to jump into CHRONOS. So you’ll have an explosion, and then the jet packs will stir up every speck of pine straw, leaves, dirt, you name it, within a ten-foot radius. It’ll look like a dust tornado has swooped down on the parking lot. Security will be focused on that side of the grounds at least for a few minutes.”
“Okay,” Trey says. “Sounds like a good backup plan if we can’t sneak in. I’ll go with Charlayne, and Ben can take this door with . . .” He looks from Dad to Connor.
“With me,” Connor says. “Harry’s the driver. We drew straws back at the house. Do you have another face mask, Ben?”
Dad’s expression is fleeting, just a subtle tightening of his mouth, but I know instantly they didn’t draw straws, flip a coin, or even discuss this matter earlier. And Connor seems to know I know, because he gives me that same look he gave me back at Katherine’s when he was destroying the keys.
“Okay,” Ben says, handing Dad something that looks like a remote control wrapped in electrical tape. “Charlayne and Trey will set up the jet packs in case the diversion is needed, and then they’ll head back around the preschool building. If they don’t get in—or if you see security moving toward them—start the motors and fire off a few M-80s to draw attention in that direction.”
“We have a stable point at the front entrance,” I tell them. “One that Kiernan set. Other-Kate can watch it, and that should give you a few seconds’ notice that they’re coming.”
“More than that,” she says. “I’ll watch a minute or so ahead. Someone just needs to leave me a cell phone so I can call him.”
Trey tosses her his phone. “His number is under recent calls.”
“Okay,” Dad says. “So once they’re in, I circle back around and watch for the rest of you on this side?”
“Yes.” Connor straps one of the rifles over his shoulder. “And then we all get the hell out of here before the cops arrive. Because I really don’t think it will take very long, especially if you do have to set off that diversion.”
They start discussing the exact timing, and Ben shows Dad his gadget to start the engines. I’m paying attention, but only with half of my brain. The other half is cycling through the many different ways that this could go horribly, horribly wrong.
For the first time, I get—I really get—how stressed Dad is when I’m about to go on a jump. Watching people you love walk into danger is a hundred times harder than walking into it yourself. I catch a glimpse of Other-Kate from the corner of my eye, and she’s watching them, too. She gives me a shaky half smile, her eyes as worried as I feel. Even though she doesn’t know Trey, Charlayne, or Ben, I guess this dad and this Connor are as close as she’ll ever get to her own versions. She hasn’t seen them for months, maybe never thought she’d see them again, and here they are preparing to go all Rambo.
And what pisses me off most is that none of them should have to be here, or at the very least we shouldn’t be in this alone. The Fifth Column—or rather the rest of the Fifth Column—should be supporting us. And in a sane world, a world where the Cyrists weren’t running things, we wouldn’t be worried about whether the authorities will catch us. If, by some crazy set of circumstances, my mother and grandmother had been kidnapped by a madman, the authorities—the ones who are actually trained for this—would be the ones running the show.
∞24∞
OUTSIDE THE SIXTEENTH STREET TEMPLE
WASHINGTON, DC
September 12, 9:23 p.m.
I don’t like this hallway.
I’m almost afraid to open my eyes, scared that I’ll see Eve in the doorway up ahead, her face bleeding from being whacked with that office chair. I can almost hear the Dobermans barking even though I know they’re at the far end of the corridor right now, in the gym with Kiernan, Mom, Katherine, and the security guards. The dogs are already snoozing, and one of the guards is nearly there, thanks to a little something extra in the filling of the jelly doughnuts they wolfed down. The other one told Kiernan he’s eating Paleo (which I had to explain), but I think he sneaked a doughnut when nobody was watching, because he’s looking a little groggy now, too.
What I don’t know is where—or when—Simon is. Or Conwell. Or Prudence, for that matter, and she’s supposed to be here. This was her stable point, the closest one she had to the Templar’s office, and she should have been here when I blinked in.
I press my back against the wall of the dark hallway and pull up the stable point in the gym. Katherine’s head is on the table, like she’s napping, even though Kiernan says their doughnuts were just glazed, without the knock-out meds. Mom is upright and alert, her eyes scanning the room. I don’t know if Kiernan gave her a heads-u
p or if it’s just her Spidey sense, but she knows something. Kiernan is casually leaning against the edge of the table, talking to the guards. One of them glances up at the clock and—
“Psst!” The voice is little more than a whisper, but it startles me. I jerk back, banging my elbow against the wall.
Prudence’s head pokes out from the doorway, almost exactly where Eve stood before. She motions for me to follow.
“Why weren’t you paying attention?” she hisses.
“Why weren’t you on time?” I hiss back, remembering a second later that I probably should avoid getting her angry.
But she’s ignoring me anyway. There’s an access badge in her hand like the one Eve carried last time I was here. Pru waves it in front of the sensor, then walks quickly down the hall toward the office on the left.
“You’re sure the side door is unlocked?” I ask.
“Yes. I unlocked it.” She waves the badge and steps aside. “And the office is empty. I checked.”
Pushing the door open, I see the room, a large library and office combo, lit only by moonlight from the courtyard and the glow of our CHRONOS keys.
She shoves the badge into my hand. “In case you need it. And you should hurry. They could come back any minute.”
“Who could come—” I begin, but I’m talking to empty space before I can finish the question.
Mom’s right. That’s really annoying.
I draw the Colt and hunch down to keep a low profile, moving quickly toward the stone fireplace that juts out a few feet into the room, dividing the two halves of the glass wall. Pressing my back against the stone, I look out into the courtyard. I was never on this side of the room last time, and I can now see the small alleyway between the buildings that Charlayne mentioned. Unfortunately, I can’t see to the end of the alley from this vantage point, so I unlock the door and step out, hoping to see whether she and Trey have made it to the gate.