Shift (ChronoShift Trilogy)

by Zack Mason

  Mark arrived at Ty’s side, stopped and rested his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath. They exchanged looks.

  “Looks like we were right,” Mark panted, “We’ve got another shifter on our hands.”

  ***

  April 22nd, 2013, Boston, MA

  When they arrived back at ChronoShift headquarters, Mark rechecked his financial statements. His net worth was back up to $22 Billion. They hadn’t been successful in identifying Smith, but it appeared they had permanently messed up the fraudulent real estate records plan. Jeff Wilson wouldn't flee to Mexico with a hundred grand in his pocket; he'd be a clerk for the rest of his life.

  “So, how do we find this guy now?” Ty asked.

  “I’m still missing another $3 Billion. That means he’s sabotaged me at least once more at some point in the past.”

  Mark breathed in deep the aroma of fresh coffee filling their office suite. Savannah had just made a fresh pot. She was using a new brewing method she called Melitta, which was basically a manual pour over, but it certainly made a delicious cup of java. He was going to need that coffee because he'd be up late tonight pouring over his various records and statements looking for something that might have been altered.

  “Do have any idea where?”

  “No. I already tried to figure it out once, but I didn’t notice anything else amiss. I’m going to have to go through my records with a fine toothed comb. It’s lucky for us this guy’s acted more than once, or we wouldn’t know where to find him at all now. When to find him, I mean.”

  “Why is he targeting you, Mark? Any idea?” Ty rubbed his forehead vigorously with the heel of his hand as if trying to stimulate clearer thinking.

  “No. I really don’t.”

  “Is he just trying to get our attention or is he trying to hurt us?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. We’ll ask him when we find him.”

  “All right.” Ty stood. “I’ll be back.”

  “Where are you going? Aren’t you going to help?”

  “Nah. First of all, I’m hungry. Second, you’re the only one who would be able to tell which investment is missing from your accounts. I’ve got no idea what you did or didn’t do.”

  “True.”

  “You want me to bring you something?”

  “Sure, get me a cheeseburger.”

  Late that night, Mark finally found it. It took a while to notice what was missing because it wasn’t just one thing. It was a number of different stock purchases. At first, it seemed like only a couple of stocks were missing from his portfolio. Stocks he’d purchased in the 1960's. The connection between them hadn’t been obvious right away.

  Then, he remembered that he’d purchased both stocks from a firm called Hodges & Tomlin. That little tidbit had brought to memory a few more stocks he remembered buying through the same firm at the same time. None of those stocks showed up in his files either. He’d probably bought a total of about 15 different stocks through Hodges & Tomlin, but nothing involving that firm showed up at all now.

  He decided “Smith” must have bribed someone in the stock firm to forge documents like he had at the County Clerk’s office in Atlanta. Doing some rough calculations, Mark guesstimated that those stock purchases and the profits from them had resulted in about $3 Billion over the last 40 years. Thankfully, it appeared that was the extent of the damage Smith had wrought so far, but if they didn’t stop the man soon, Mark would be spending all his time fixing whatever Smith undid.

  The tricky part was going to be catching the guy.

  “How do you wanna run it, Mark?”

  “We need to figure that out. This guy obviously knows my face, but I don’t know him from Adam.”

  “Yeah, and he ran too. That probably means he wasn’t just trying to get our attention.”

  “That’s the logical conclusion.”

  “And he’s got a shifter.” Ty leaned back in his chair.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “This guy’s got a shifter and he’s out to do you harm. He knows we’re onto him, and there’s nothing preventing him from setting up an ambush for us at Hodges & Tomlin. He’s already caused a change there, so he knows we’re going to investigate.”

  “But he doesn’t know when we’re going to investigate.”

  “True. But it wouldn’t be hard for him to figure out.”

  “All right. So what do you propose?” Mark asked.

  “Since we’re not sure he knows my face, I’ll go back first and do basic reconnaissance from a distance. If it’s all clear, I’ll come back and get you.”

  Mark agreed to the plan. They went back to 1967, a couple of weeks after Mark had opened his trade account with Hodges & Tomlin. None of the stock brokers remembered Mark, however, and they had no paper record of his account. He and Ty tried again one day after the stocks should have been purchased, but there was still no record of his having done business with the firm. Same result when they tried the same day as the purchase. Not to mention, they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Smith surveilling them during any of the visits.

  Frustrated, they returned to headquarters.

  “Looks like we’re back to square one.”

  Mark rubbed the back of his head.

  “I don’t get it. I know I bought stocks at that firm. Somehow, he must have stopped me from ever arriving there with the money.”

  “Where’d you get the money?” Ty asked.

  Mark’s face lit up. “From a bet.”

  “What bet?”

  “A horse race. I bet $10,000 on a long shot named Willful Destiny. The odds were 30 to 1, but of course, I knew he was going to win. I used the winnings to buy the stocks at Hodges & Tomlin.”

  “So, maybe something changed? Something that caused a different horse to win?”

  “We’ll have to do some research.”

  “Why don’t you just google it?”

  “How do you know about Google?”

  “I’m not such a neophyte to the good ol’ 21st century anymore, man. I’ve learned some things.”

  Mark laughed and turned to his computer. In just a few minutes, he found what they were looking for.

  “Bingo. Take a look at this.” He swiveled the computer screen so Ty could see it. Mark had found a site where someone had posted a pdf of an old newspaper article on the race.

  Racehorse Murdered!

  The final race yesterday at the Fairfield Commons was tragically aborted when one of the racehorses was shot and killed in mid-stride. Willful Destiny had not been a favorite of betters, having been a longshot to win with odds of more than 30 to 1.

  Within the first minute after the race began, a single bullet struck Willful Destiny in the head, killing the horse instantly. The race was brought to a halt before finishing. Police reported that the assassination of the equine appeared to be the work of a lone sniper. They currently have no leads as to his identity. All bets for the race were returned to the betters.

  There was more to the article, but nothing of relevance to them.

  “I guess we know what happened now, huh?”

  “Yeah — and we know he’s got a gun.”

  Ty didn’t look worried. “We’ll just be a little more careful is all.”

  June 7th, 1967, Fairfield Commons, KY

  “Where’s he at?” Mark asked.

  “There and....there.” Ty pointed to a roof overlooking the track’s bleachers and then to a wooded hill closer to them. Mark could see the prone figure of a man in both places.

  “Both those men are him?”

  “Yes. He’s got an ambush set up for us. He originally shot the horse from his position on the roof. After we interrupted his lunch in Atlanta, he must have realized we were on his trail and come back here to set up an ambush further away there in woods. Most likely, he's got a sniper rifle and from the woods, he’s planning to let loose on anyone who makes a move on his rooftop position before his previous self kills the horse. He’s essentiall
y providing his earlier self with cover.

  “Well, let’s not keep him waiting.”

  Mark and Ty’s special forces training had taught both of them to move silently through brush and forest, so they had no trouble sneaking up on Smith from behind. Both carried assault rifles and holstered pistols.

  They were twenty yards away when a startled quail suddenly burst up in a flurry of wings. Smith whirled at the noise and turned to face them. Whipping up his rifle, Ty drew a bead on Smith and yelled “Freeze!” Mark rushed the man at a dead run.

  But it was too late. Smith was gone. He’d had no desire to duke it out with Mark and Ty on fair terms, so he had shifted out as soon as he’d seen them, and there was no way to chase him. Apparently, the guy wasn’t going to risk a confrontation where he didn’t have the element of surprise. Mark didn’t blame him.

  Nabbing a fellow time shifter was going to be a very difficult....and a very dangerous task. Unfortunately, they had the disadvantage. Smith knew where and when to find them, but they had no idea how to find him.

  ***

  April 24th, 2013, Boston, MA

  “How can you eat that stuff, man?” Ty grimaced.

  They were sitting at a local McDonald’s and Mark was stuffing his face with fries. Ty had already finished his salad.

  “This is how.” Mark smiled and lifted another bunch of fries to his mouth.

  Ty laughed, and then the conversation took a lull. After a minute Ty asked, “Mark, are you ever gonna forgive Hardy?”

  Mark’s face darkened at the mention of his name.

  “No,” he growled. “How can I? Even if I could, I don’t want to. And I certainly can’t ever trust him again.”

  “You can’t hold a grudge forever, you know. We were a team. I hate to see that broken up over a girl.”

  Mark glared. “We aren’t a team now, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “Yeah, but Hardy’s the only other guy we know that has a shifter. We could use his help to....”

  Ty didn’t finish his sentence.

  After a couple of seconds, Mark looked up to see why, but Ty was gone. His first thought was that Ty was playing games and had shifted out, but Ty’s tray and empty salad bowl were missing. He could have taken them with him, but this was a pretty stupid joke if it was one.

  Alarmed, Mark jumped to his feet. Where did Ty go? He realized he hadn’t heard the customary static pop that always accompanies a shift.

  Frantically, Mark checked the bathroom and the parking lot. Ty wasn’t the only thing missing. Mark’s car was gone too.

  Come to think of it, Mark felt kind of odd himself. Looking down, he didn’t recognize the clothes he was wearing. His outfit was outlandish, right out of the 1970's. It certainly wasn’t what he’d put on this morning. He dropped his hands to his pockets and to his dismay discovered that both his wallet and keys were missing. He still had his shifter though. That, at least, lowered his growing panic back down a notch.

  A worn backpack sat on the bench where he’d been. It suspiciously looked like his old backpack, the one he’d carried into the mountains. He unzipped its side. Therein lay two shifters. Two unused shifters.

  ***

  Mark was beyond annoyed. He was jaws-clenched, temples-throbbing angry. Smith had gone too far this time. Somehow he’d traced Mark’s history far enough back that he’d been able to undo everything Mark had done since coming out of the Georgia mountains.

  The two shifters in Mark’s backpack meant that the history where he’d sought out Hardy and Ty to be a part of his team had been undone. Ty was dead in Vietnam. Hardy was.....well, Hardy was still in Delta back in the 1980's.

  The fact that his wallet was gone could only mean that so was the wealth he’d accumulated. All of it. The loss of all that money didn’t bother him that much; he could earn it back.

  What really got him steaming was the work it represented. It had taken months and months to get everything set up the way he wanted. Now, he’d have to go back and redo everything. He’d have to rehire Hardy & Ty, relive all the conversations he’d had with them. He’d have to rehire Savannah, have all those costumes remade along with everything else. The first time it had been fun, now it would just be annoying.

  Mark guessed what Smith had done. There was only one thing he could have done to erase it all in one fell swoop. Somehow, Smith must have interfered with Mark’s first purchase of Wal-Mart stock. The sale of that stock had singlehandedly launched Mark out of poverty and into financial independence. That was the only thing Smith could have messed with that would have affected absolutely everything else Mark had built.

  He had to get back to Georgia. He pulled his pockets inside out. Penniless, again. At least he’d just eaten.

  Nope, a sharp hunger pain canceled that thought. Great. He’d had no wallet, so there had been no lunch with Ty.

  No car, no house, not one thing outside of whatever he’d originally had in that dad-blamed backpack and he’d eaten the last beef jerky he’d had in there right about the time he’d found the shifters. He would have to hitchhike and find other creative means to support himself until he could get to Lawrenceville.

  He wasn’t going to redo everything from scratch. Instead, he would find a way to undo the undoing Smith had wrought. And this time, he’d make sure Smith didn’t mess with him again.

  ***

  A little begging, a lot of thumbs stuck out on two-lane highways, and a few creative time-travel, money-making schemes, and Mark made it back in Lawrenceville. He figured out what had happened pretty fast. Smith had robbed Brand Bank one night after hours, and the employees of the bank had found him locked in the vault the next morning. Which puzzled Mark. Why hadn’t Smith just shifted out of the vault?

  Of course, the police didn't find any money on him and were baffled by how he could have gotten inside in the first place. The only thing Smith wanted, however, were the Wal-Mart shares in Mark’s safe deposit box.

  The newspaper account reported that Smith had escaped from police custody immediately after being arrested, so finding him outside the bank wasn’t an option.

  Mark could remove the shares from the box before Smith got to them, but he wanted to catch the man red-handed. He wasn’t about to let him slip away again and repeat his frustrating meddling.

  Most likely, Smith didn’t “break in” to the bank’s vault as much as he had shifted in. So, Mark did the same.

  It was midnight, and the scene was a bit confusing. The bank’s power had been cut, and the entire building was shrouded in pitch black darkness. Inside the vault, Smith sat cross-legged in a corner, illuminated by the weak glow of a flashlight. Mark had his own flashlight, which he swiftly brought to bear on Smith in synchronized movement with his pistol.

  Smith looked to be of Italian descent. He had a strong, angular nose and thick, dark eyebrows which matched the almost black sheen of his coarse hair. Charred fragments of paper littered the floor at his feet. The smell of recent smoke filled Mark’s nostrils.

  “You didn’t!” Mark cried. He knew those fragments could only be the shares he was seeking.

  “I did,” Smith replied dryly, glaring.

  “The newspaper didn’t mention anything about you burning my shares!”

  Smith shrugged. He didn’t seem especially riled or surprised by Mark’s appearance. Which made Mark even madder.

  “You....” Mark was ready to spit. “What’s you real name?” he demanded.

  Smith grinned cockily. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  Mark steadied his pistol and took aim. He needed to be careful. He was so angry he might lose control, kill the guy, and then he wouldn’t learn anything. Not to mention the guy technically hadn’t done anything worthy of being shot....yet.

  “Where’s your shifter?” The guy’s wrists were bare of any device. “How’d you get in here if you didn’t shift?”

  “I did shift.” He squirmed, finally looking a bit uncomfortable.

  “Then, wher
e’d it go? I haven’t found a way to get mine off.”

  “It was an unforeseen consequence of me burning your shares.”

  “Huh?”

  “You want your shares back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shift back to 9:43 PM. Have your pistol ready and threaten me with it when I try to burn your shares.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “9:43 PM.”

  Mark’s jaw trembled. It could be a trick, but if it was, he could just return to this time and catch the guy again. He reset his watch and shifted.

  Smith was standing now, Mark’s shares in one hand, a lighter already flaming in the other, ready to ignite them at any second.

  “Drop the lighter! Now!”

  This time, Smith was seriously startled by the sudden appearance of an armed man screaming at him. He dropped the lighter and it self-extinguished. Smith recovered from the surprise and reached for his shifter.

  “Oh no, you don’t!” Mark leapt onto him, and in one swift motion they were wrestling for control of Smith’s arm. The guy had more wiry strength than it appeared. He kneed Mark in the groin, and during the momentary lapse in concentration the pain caused, Smith freed his wrist and shifted out of the vault to an unknown time.

  Mark scooped up the discarded shares from the floor, happy that at least he’d just returned his life to normal with minimal effort.

  Slowly, realization of the opportunity he’d just missed crept into his mind.

  What an idiot.

  He wanted to slap himself. It didn’t matter if the shares had been burned. Mark could have always scrounged up a little money to buy some more and redone that work.

  The shares were nothing compared to stopping Smith. He’d just had Smith in his sights, trapped, unarmed, and without a shifter!