“Okay, moderately easy.”
Travers chuckled.
He studied the watch. “I wonder how he disabled the tracking device,” he said, mostly to himself. Each watch had a built in tracking device that allowed the Council to know where it was at any moment in time.
“No matter, our team will figure it out.”
He leaned back in his enormous office chair and frowned. Travers hadn’t been the head of the Council for Temporal Studies for long, but from what Jack understood, it was a change for the better. Travers might be small physically, but he stood up big when it counted. A secret time travel organization tasked with keeping the timeline safe needed that, and then some.
He gestured to one of the leather club chairs opposite his desk. “Have a seat, Mr. Wells.”
“Jack, please.”
Travers nodded. “I don’t know how much the Crosses have told you about the Shadow Council.”
“That’s classified, isn’t it?” Jack asked. He knew it was, and he knew a lot more.
“Yes, very.” Travers put the watch down gently on his desk as if it were the most valuable thing in the world. It was.
He looked across his desk at Jack. “But I know that you and the Crosses are close.”
That was an understatement. Simon and Elizabeth Cross were the closest thing Jack had to a family. Ever since they’d saved his bacon during one of their time traveling missions and brought him back to the future, the three of them been a virtually inseparable trio.
“And I also know that they trust you more than they trust me.”
There were no hurt feelings in his voice; it was a statement of fact. Despite that, Travers seemed to sag a little, and Jack had an idea why.
The Shadow Council business was ugly. A splinter group inside the organization with less than benevolent aims had tried to take over the Council. No one knew what its endgame was, but it was definitely not preservation of the timeline, at least not the timeline Jack knew and loved. Thankfully, the coup failed and members, men like David Quint, scattered into the shadows. However, the resulting scars and paranoia from the discovery that the Council itself harbored its own worst enemy lingered.
“There are so few of us now,” Travers said, sounding suddenly tired. “And even fewer I trust.”
He put his hands on the desk and looked down at his fingertips.
“To be quite honest, I don’t know if I’m the right man for this job anymore.”
Jack knew how Travers was feeling—the betrayal, the distrust of everyone around him, even of himself. That was always the worst of it. The self-doubt that crept in. He’d trusted, even hired, some of the very people who’d tried to destroy the Council and everything it stood for. That sort of wound didn’t heal easily.
“The good guys won, right?” Jack asked and Travers managed a half-hearted nod.
“For now.”
“It’s always just for now.”
It was cold comfort, but Travers took it and nodded.
There were always threats. Hell, Jack had been a boy during World War I, the war to end all wars. When he was a man, he’d fought in World War II. Since he’d come to the future, he’d learned about Korea, Vietnam, the Gulf. As far as he could tell, it never ended; only the faces changed.
“All you can do is what you think is right. And from what I know and what the Crosses tell me, you’ve done that, no matter how hard it was. I’d say that makes you the right man for the job.”
Travers looked at him with a rueful smile. “It’s that simple for you, isn’t it? You’ve probably never had a moment of doubt of your life. Never questioned yourself.”
Jack laughed and sat back. “My partner and best friend turned out to be Nazi, remember?”
“Oh, that’s right,” Travers replied, and a small smile came to his lips.
“You don’t have to be so happy about it,” Jack said. “I’m still kicking myself over it.”
“That’s some comfort,” Travers said.
Jack sat back in his chair. “Glad to help.”
“I appreciate your candor,” Travers said. “But none of this is what I want to talk to you about.”
Jack nodded.
Travers looked at him thoughtfully and then down at the watch on his desk. He touched it lightly with his index finger.
“I’d like to talk to you about this.”
Jack’s heart rate sped up a little. For the last year, ever since he’d been saved by the Crosses, he’d been a man without a purpose. Sure, he’d tagged along with the Crosses on their missions for the Council, but he was only there to help. He was a man in his prime, not even thirty-five. And not without skills. His years in the OSS had taught him well. He couldn’t stand being idle. He needed to do something. Something that mattered.
“As you know,” Travers said, “there are only twelve of these in existence. So, as you can imagine, they are not given out lightly.”
Jack nodded. Only a rare group of people in the history of the Council had been entrusted with one.
“I want to trust you with this watch, Mr. Wells,” he said. “The Crosses, for whom I have the utmost respect, think you’re worthy of this. Are you?”
Jack hadn’t been expecting that, and instead of his usual glib response he paused to actually think about his answer.
Travers leaned forward. “There is no greater responsibility than possessing one of these watches. The bearer has the ability to alter history, to shape the future of the entire world.”
“No pressure,” Jack said.
Travers chuckled lightly, but his serious expression returned quickly. “Are you the sort of man who can wield that much power and yet not use it for personal gain?”
“I’d like to think so.”
Travers shook his head. “The Council is here to protect a very fragile timeline. With something like this, you have to be sure.”
Jack looked at the watch. “With something like this, you can never be sure. If you say you are, you’re lying.”
He moved to the edge of his seat. “Look, I can’t guarantee anything other than this—if you give me that watch, I’ll do my best to be worthy of it. Whether that’s good enough, I don’t know. That’s for you to decide.” Then he leaned back. “That’s why you get the big bucks.”
Travers eyed him carefully and then stood. “I guess that’s that.”
Jack’s heart fell. He’s really thought he had a chance. He cleared his throat and stood. “Right.”
He’d really thought he’d found a purpose again. Jack started to turn when Travers held out his hand.
“Welcome to the Council, Mr. Wells.”
Jack looked at his hand in shock for a moment and then laughed and shook it.
“Thank you.”
“And if you’re willing, I’d like to put you to work. Immediately.”
Jack grinned. “I can do that.”
“After recent events, we’re a little short-staffed,” Travers said in an understatement as he came around his desk and leaned against its edge. He picked up a folder. “Your assignment.”
Jack grinned, took the folder and flipped it open. “Another Shadow Council deal?”
Travers shook his head. “No. I’m afraid we’ve run out of leads on that front. For now. Until then, we have other matters that need our attention. Starting with the one in your hand. A murder you must prevent.”
Jack nodded and glanced at the folder. “Who is it? Some big wig?”
“No, not exactly. She—” Jack’s grin made him frown, but he continued, “She’s a regular woman, more or less. One of her descendants though is quite important—cures cancer.”
Jack looked up from the file. “What?”
“Not soon, mind you, but in the future.” Travers smiled slightly. “I’m sure you can understand that I can’t say much more than that.”
“The future? You know what happens.”
“Some of it.”
Jack nodded toward the watch. “Can you go there with that?
”
Travers shrugged. “With some caveats, but yes. Time goes both ways, you know? Backwards and forwards.”
It took a moment, but Jack saw the sense in it. He’d traveled into his future, why couldn’t Travers or someone else do the same? Still it was a lot to take in. As he tried to wrap his mind around the idea of going into the future, Travers brought him back to the present.
“So you can see, it’s rather important she survives.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Normally, you’d train for months, but unfortunately we don’t have that sort of time.”
“Short on time? That’s a little ironic for a time traveling agency, isn’t it?”
“Time is … complicated. And made more so by forces we don’t quite understand. I’m sure you remember the difficulty we had with that Jack the Ripper business.”
Jack squinted. “Not really.”
“Oh, that’s right. You ceased to be. Here, anyway.”
Jack shuddered at the casual way he’d said that. Ceased to be. “Maybe I don’t want to know.”
Travers nodded. “Well, suffice it to say, despite what you’ve been led to believe, time is not a constant. It’s always in flux and, frankly, well beyond my abilities to explain.”
He pushed himself off the edge of his desk and walked back around to his chair. “What I do know is that there are windows for fixing things that have been changed, and if we miss them …”
His voice trailed off and he held out his hands in despair.
“Okay,” Jack said. “So, time matters.”
The corners of Travers’ mouth turned up in a knowing smile. “Very, very much so.”
Chapter Three
JACK CRADLED THE PHONE between his ear and shoulder as he loosened his tie and tossed the dossier onto the desk in his hotel room. He sat down and leaned back, waiting for an answer.
“Hello?”
Jack smiled at the sound of Elizabeth Cross’ voice. “Hey, kid.”
“Jack! How’d it go?” He heard her cover the mouthpiece and tell Simon that he was on the phone. “I’m going to put you on speakerphone, okay?”
“You know I hate using speakerphone,” Simon complained in the background.
“Ignore him,” Elizabeth said, and then added excitedly, “What did Travers say?”
Jack told them the good news. They were the only people he could tell, but honestly, they were the only people he would have told anyway. They were as close to family as any he’d had in twenty years.
“And you have an assignment already?” Jack heard the excitement in her voice and knew what she was going to say next. “I can be ready in an hour. Less if I don’t shower. They have showers in 1960, right?”
Jack chuckled. “Yeah, I think so, but—”
“Elizabeth,” Simon said.
“What? He always helps us, so now we’re helping him, right? Right?” she repeated, clearly for Jack’s benefit.
Jack looked at the mahogany box on the desk. “I appreciate the offer, but …”
He wasn’t sure how to say no. They’d been there for him in every way possible, but Jack really needed to do this alone. To do something on his own and not be beholden to the Crosses.
“I can’t ask you to help me with this,” he said finally. “You’ve done enough for me already. It’ll take me a lifetime to repay the money I owe you.”
Ever since he’d arrived in the present, he’d been living on the Crosses’ dime. Jobs for a man from the 1940s were in short supply and landlords were still not the generous sort. While paying his rent and giving him spending money didn’t bother them at all, it bothered him. A lot.
“Don’t be silly,” Elizabeth said. “Simon’s rich, remember? He doesn’t miss it.”
“I am standing right here, Elizabeth.”
“It isn’t just the money,” Jack said. While it was true that Simon was filthy rich, old school English Baronet rich, it wasn’t really about that. “I kinda need to do this one on my own, ya know?”
“Of course,” Simon said.
“Yeah.”
Jack could hear the disappointment in Elizabeth’s voice and couldn’t help but smile again. She loved working for the Council and was always ready to jump headfirst into anything. Her husband was more pragmatic.
“I appreciate the offer,” Jack said.
“We do have our own … project to attend to, Elizabeth,” Simon said.
“Anything I can help with?” Jack asked.
For some reason that elicited a fit of giggles from Elizabeth and a coughing fit from Simon. “No, no. Thank you,” he said, clearing his throat.
Jack wasn’t sure what that was all about, but he was glad they understood.
He opened the wooden box on the desk and ran his fingertips over the embossed gold case of the watch.
“I’ll call you when I get back.”
“You’d better.”
After he hung up with the Crosses, he briefly considered going down to the hotel bar for a celebratory drink. Maybe Laurel, or Lauren, or Laura would be there. But as enticing as that sounded, he had more important things to do. His eyes fell on the dossier and he reached out to pick it up. He felt a rush of excitement as he opened a new chapter in his life.
He spent the next few days preparing for the mission. Reading the brief didn’t take long. While there was a fair amount of general material about the location and time period, there weren’t many details about the mission itself. On paper, it was simple enough. A woman was murdered and she shouldn’t have been. His job was to help set the timeline right and make sure it didn’t happen … again … or at all. Sometimes he hated thinking about time travel. It twisted his brain. But Elizabeth had taught him to chalk it up to just being “timey-wimey” and let it go.
Bottom line was that someone wanted Susan Santo dead, and it was his job to make sure they didn’t get what they wanted.
Easy enough, or it would have been if they’d been able to tell him anything more about the murder than the simple fact that it occurred. The details, little things like who did it, how they did it, and exactly when, were all unknown.
“If we knew all that, we wouldn’t need a man like you,” Travers had said.
Jack guessed that was true enough. If they knew the exact date, time and location for the murder, stopping it would be a breeze. Just pop in right before it and Bob’s your uncle. But with time constantly shifting like sand in the desert, it was a bit more challenging.
The eggheads had narrowed down the day of the murder to June 19, 1960, but they couldn’t nail down exactly how it happened or, more importantly, who did it. That was up to Jack to figure out, and he had just over a week to do it. Any longer than that and time could shift and there would be no way for Travers to contact him to let him know.
It was one of those windows Travers had talked about and it was pretty damned small. So damned small he had to squeeze into it today. Tomorrow it might be gone forever.
Once Jack traveled back in time he’d have ten days to blend in, solve the murder before it happened and make sure it never did.
Easy-peasy.
It would have been hard enough if she’d just been a waitress or a showgirl or a kindergarten teacher, anything other than what she was—a mobster’s wife. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Mob money made Las Vegas, but it sure made his job that much harder. Getting close to a married woman wasn’t difficult, but staying close was. And a mobster’s wife? That was just trouble with a capital T.
But the job was the job, and he did love a challenge.
Once he’d memorized the scant details of the dossier and his cover, a traveling salesman of all things, he dug into the rest of his research. Know a place and know the people. He’d spent enough time undercover in unpredictable situations to know that the best plan was never to have one. Know the players, know the field. And be ready to react. The Council had given him detailed reports about the location and era. 1960 was as new to him as it was to the people living through it. The Cou
ncil’s reports had the benefit of a modern perspective he didn’t have. He read as much as he could between the rest of his mission prep.
It wasn’t just about reading history books. Agents of the Council didn’t just drop into the time they were traveling in; they were carefully prepared. No one was allowed to bring anything even remotely anachronistic back in time. So, everything from his clothes to his pocket change had to be natural to 1960.
He was provided with era-appropriate clothing down to his skivvies. Another department took care of accessories: wristwatch, tie clip, matchbooks, cufflinks, and any miscellaneous jewelry. He decided against the pinky ring.
Jack made sure he added a paper clip and bobby pin to his belongings. Those two little innocuous items were gold if you knew what to do with them.
Next was the barbershop where his hair was trimmed and styled for the period with a little dab of Brylcreem.
Then came the currency department, where he was given a money belt, one thousand dollars in paper money circulated before 1960, and a handful of pocket change. He was also given papers for a line of credit at Wells Fargo. The Council had massive, long-standing accounts at numerous banks around the world. Money was no object.
He was given a wallet, complete with a California driver’s license, business cards from a paper company in Sacramento, a worn photograph of a fairly attractive woman he decided to call Veronica, a ticket stub from a baseball game between the LA Dodgers and Milwaukee Braves at the Coliseum from May that year, and even a little slip of paper with a lipstick smudge and a hastily scrawled “RE 7-1329.”
Jack smiled. Travers thought of everything.
The last stop on the prep tour was his favorite—the armory. They had the most extensive weapons collection he’d ever seen. From crossbows to katanas, they had everything. But he didn’t have time to spend admiring it all. He had to choose what he wanted to take with him. The flamethrower was tempting, but the clerk poo-pooed it.
Finally, Jack settled on a good old reliable Colt 1911 for his main weapon. He’d used one during the war and it was familiar and strangely comforting to hold one again. For his back-up, he picked a little Smith & Wesson snub nose .38. It was a little bulky for his ankle holster, but, considering he didn’t know exactly what he was walking into, he’d rather be prepared than comfortable.
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