Fulfillment (Wilton's Gold #2)

by Craig W. Turner

  What had compelled him to follow up on Evelyn’s wild goose chase instructions he didn’t know – especially given Fisher’s assertion that they were already close to finding the younger Evelyn. Curiosity, maybe. If anything, if the younger version of Evelyn walked off of that plane and he was able to make contact with her, he’d become a believer.

  He’d decided that if he waited in the arrivals area he’d never be able to pick her out of a crowd, so he purchased the cheapest ticket he could find to get through security. He selected a vantage point with a minimally obstructed view of Customs, where he hoped he’d be able to ascertain who young Evelyn was, albeit with very little description. Of course, he had no idea what he’d do if and when he saw her, anyway, so identifying her was probably the least of his worries.

  With time to kill, he let his mind drift to his lab, where he was certain the FBI had already stationed agents. For the time being, he’d completely lost control of his experiments, which was unfortunate, particularly now since he was still mystified about how his device ended up in California. It would be incredibly difficult to investigate that in any way with the FBI hovering over him.

  He knew exactly, of course, why it would have ended up in the Sierra Nevadas as opposed to somewhere else, and he was pretty sure that he knew when it arrived there. When Dexter had identified missions they could undertake, where they could be certain there would be a vulnerable treasure for the taking, he’d specifically left out one possibility that he’d mentioned to Jeff in their earliest conversations: Joe Wilton’s treacherous trek through the mountains en route to San Francisco carrying 60 bars of gold. To Jeff, it was a better choice than the ten or so potential missions Dexter had actually recommended – the isolation in the mountains and the actual value of the treasure were certainly the most promising. But his friend couldn’t get past an entry in Wilton’s diary where he’d detailed how an angel had appeared in their path and told him that an ambush awaited him. Unfortunately, instead of saving him, Wilton’s apparition was less than helpful, and had actually steered him directly into an attack by an outlaw named “Bad Dan” Carmichael. His gold was taken and several members of his team murdered. Jeff thought that getting to Wilton and taking the gold before Bad Dan could steal it was a no-brainer, but Dexter was scared off by the whole angel concept. He said they couldn’t trust their fate to a crazy person, which is what Wilton seemed to be.

  Jeff’s pushing the issue definitely toed the line of “Why did you invite me on the team if you don’t trust my guidance?” with Dexter at times. But the device’s existence in those mountains told Jeff that they did indeed go to take the gold, despite Dexter’s opposition. That gave him hope that his insistence was well-placed, and that he would ultimately come through this whole thing still standing.

  He checked the time on his phone and saw that the Air France flight was scheduled to land momentarily, so he stood and wandered to the screen listing the incoming flights. Sure enough, Flight 118 from London was on the ground and pulling up to the gate. He resumed his seat and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible while visually stalking customs for a medium-height blonde woman, watching the description Evelyn had written on the tissue.

  Her guidance was short in detail, though, and at first it frustrated him that she couldn’t do better. But as he sat on the train thinking, he realized that she herself would have had no idea what the younger version of herself would look like. She only knew what she looked like at that age, which wouldn’t necessarily be the same as someone with a completely different upbringing. Hair style, even hair color... she couldn’t be sure.

  There was a slow trickle of people coming through Customs for a few minutes, and then he saw a steady flow of passengers approach the lines, signaling that a full flight had just deplaned. Throwing caution to the wind, he stood, peering through the crowd. Traveler after traveler did their business and then left the line headed for the baggage claim and whatever awaited them in America. None of them seemed to fit the model he had in mind.

  After about ten minutes, he settled on a woman with black, short-cropped hair, almost like a young, European Liza Minnelli. He decided that if there were going to be any telltale signs, they would be in the woman’s mannerisms, and how closely he could relate them to Evelyn’s. Which was a challenge in itself because Evelyn’s mannerisms were those of an old woman who had been in a mental institution for seven years.

  He watched as the woman dealt with her paperwork with the Customs agent, then turned to leave, taking small, quick strides away from the booth. For him, it was now or never, so he started to follow her. But another passenger caught his eye suddenly, and he stopped. The woman was taller than Liza, and blonde, with her hair tied up into a tight bun on top of her head. She was standing at the booth talking to the customs agent, dressed in blue jeans and a stylish light jacket. She was the spitting image of Evelyn. He’d found his mark.

  Now the game started. He would lose all credibility walking up to her in the middle of a busy airport after she’d just endured a seven-hour flight and babbling to her about time travel. No, he determined he would subtly follow her, see where she was headed, and then, based on the situation, find a more appropriate way of approaching her.

  Already, he realized he’d bought into Evelyn’s scheme. The fact that this woman looked exactly like her was mesmerizing. He watched as she strode away from the booth and followed at a distance as she retrieved her luggage – a large suitcase to which she adeptly attached her carry-on. She pulled her bags away from the pile and headed down the escalator, taking a glance above her at the sign reading “Ground Transportation.” He’d assumed correctly that she’d be getting a taxi, which is why he’d left his own car in Jersey.

  Once outside, there was a line for cabs and she jumped into it, fourth from the front. Knowing he needed to stay close, he quietly crept up behind her and looked away as if he was daydreaming. She didn’t turn toward him, which was good because it meant she was paying him no attention. The line moved quickly and she was escorted by the attendant into a yellow NYC cab. He grabbed the next one and instructed the driver, a bearded Indian man, to follow hers.

  Jeff considered that his cab driver must’ve had experience following other cabs as he did what seemed to be a good job of staying close, but not too close. There was enough traffic to get lost in and not be seen, but he also wanted to make sure he didn’t lose her. He watched closely as they took the interchange from the Van Wyck onto the Long Island Expressway toward Manhattan. As the skyscrapers rose in front of him, their lights starting to illuminate the darkening sky, traffic slowed, but he was still able to keep a close eye on young Evelyn’s cab.

  They pulled through the Queens-Midtown Tunnel and emerged into Manhattan. The duo of cabs turned onto Park Avenue, and a few moments later he saw her taxi veer curbside in front of the Waldorf Astoria. Impressive, he thought. While he wasn’t shy about spending a few bucks here or there, he didn’t know too many scientists who stayed at the Waldorf. He instructed his cabbie to let him out halfway down the block and tipped him extra for his slick driving.

  Now that he’d gotten this far, he had even less of an idea how he was going to make his move. If she made it into her hotel room, he’d either have to stalk her by waiting outside or figure out another way to get in touch with her before the FBI figured out what was going on. Immediately, he regretted not confronting her at the airport. With no other choice at this point, he followed her inside the hotel lobby – lagging about fifteen seconds behind her. He found her at the check-in desk, so he sidled into the line next to hers, the longer of the two because he had no intention of taking a room.

  She reached the desk and paid for her room, then the clerk went over the amenities and handed her the keycard to her room. “Room fifteen-oh-seven,” she said.

  As if he’d forgotten something, Jeff pulled out of the line and hustled across the lobby to the elevators. One appeared to be almost full and was just starting to close when a businessman
inside held the door for him. He slid inside and pressed the button for the fifteenth floor as the doors closed behind him. He caught a glimpse of Evelyn at the last moment, walking slowly toward the elevator, seemingly unaware of his presence.

  The elevator holder got off on the fourth floor and Jeff thanked him again with a nod of his head. The elevator made a few more stops with people filing out. After the 12th floor, he was alone. He prepped in his head how he was going to overcome the appearance of a strange man approaching this woman in the hallway of the Waldorf. He actually hoped there was someone else – anyone – on the floor to make her feel more comfortable that she was in no danger. He supposed that if someone had been tracking him, there would be little they could do to make him feel comfortable. Especially in a new city after hours of traveling. All she probably wanted was a hot bath instead of being accosted trying to get to the tub.

  In the three floors he had to travel, he made up his mind. He would stand at a reasonable distance from her and call her by name. That would get her attention, and then he could quickly tell her why he was there. Hopefully, it would at least pique her interest, and then they could have a real conversation.

  The “15” illuminated on the elevator as the bell went off. Jeff took a deep breath, knowing that he probably only had seconds to find a non-threatening place from which to approach her before her own elevator would arrive. The door opened and he stepped out into the hallway.

  Strong hands grabbed him and Jeff felt himself flying across the hall cheek-first into the wall, which was rough, almost like sandpaper. Before he could understand the impact of the wall, an iron fist pummeled the back of his right leg and his knee buckled, cutting him to one knee. He tried to push with his other foot to gain balance, but he was quickly spun around and forced helplessly against the wall, his left arm twisted behind his back to the point where he felt his shoulder would momentarily pull out of its socket. All that was in his field of vision was the deep red of the ornate wallpaper and a distorted view of the hallway like you’d see in a horror movie.

  “Why are you following me?” a thickly accented woman’s voice whispered in his ear, the one that wasn’t smashed against the wall.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ekaterina had seen the man watching her the moment she’d left the customs booth at the airport. He’d actually started to follow another woman, but then must’ve seen something he liked in her and changed his course. At the hotel, she was pleased to see him get into an elevator containing several people just as the one next to it was opening. She’d easily beaten him to the 15th floor of the hotel, and even had some time to lay her bags against the wall and assess the situation. While she’d been to New York many times, she’d never been in the Waldorf, and she found the lavish hallways conducive to surprising a would-be follower.

  Now, with his arm twisted behind his back in a way that guaranteed her complete control over him, she quickly ascertained that he wasn’t there to do her harm. Or, better put, he wasn’t the type of man you’d send after someone to do them harm. Overtaking him had been effortless. He must’ve assumed that she hadn’t seen him and was not prepared for the turnabout. But he was there for a reason, and before she let go he was going to tell her what that reason was.

  He mumbled something unintelligible. Half of his mouth was pressed up against the wall, so she pulled him back a few inches, maintaining her leverage over him. He wasn’t going anywhere. “Why are you following me?” she asked again.

  “If you let me go, I can tell you,” he said. He was in anguish. She knew, of course, the pain she was causing in his shoulder. It was a standard “don’t follow me” message.

  She shook her head. “No, you will tell me now.” She pulled his arm more tightly and he gasped.

  “Your name is Evelyn Peters,” he said.

  She let go and he slumped to the floor, holding his shoulder. “How do you know Evelyn Peters?” she asked.

  He writhed for a moment, then slid himself along the floor and propped himself up, sitting against the wall. He was out of breath and his face was red from exertion. “Evelyn Peters is a woman that I met this morning,” he said. “She says that she sent you a letter telling you that she is your mother, and that you were on an Air France flight today to arrive in New York. She gave me your flight information so that I’d be able to find you. I’m guessing by your reaction that I did a good job in picking you out of the crowd. You are Evelyn, right?”

  She paused for a moment, then shook her head. “No, my name is not Evelyn. Why would you say Evelyn is my mother and then suggest that I am Evelyn?”

  He looked up at her. “So you’re not Evelyn?” His head was still buzzing from being pressed against the wall.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Dr. Jeff Jacobs,” he said. “I’m a physicist here in New York.”

  “And why are you following me?”

  “Because Evelyn Peters asked me to.”

  She stood straight and looked down the hallway toward her room, then back at this man lying on the floor. Just six days ago she’d received an e-mail from a woman in New York named Evelyn Peters who lived in a psychiatric center. The content of the message was overwhelming – enough so that she’d quickly settled some affairs and booked a flight to the U.S. Though there had been no mention of Evelyn being her mother. She’d been very clear about who she believed she was and why she was reaching out to her. Obviously, Evelyn had sent this man off in that direction for a specific purpose, so she wasn’t going to put him back on track. Yet.

  “You’re being cryptic with me,” she said, not having the patience to wait for him to unveil the story. “I want to know why you followed me from the airport.”

  He sighed and used the wall to stand. Once he was up, he said, “I need you to bear with me because this is going to come across as a very strange story. Evelyn Peters is not your mother. She is you.”

  “How is she me?” She wanted to hear his interpretation of it.

  He held up his hands. “Let me explain. You’re a physicist, so you’ll understand where I’m going here.”

  “I am not a physicist,” she said. He must have inferred that from Evelyn’s background. “Did Evelyn tell you that?”

  “You’re not a physicist?” He looked confused. “What are you?”

  She was not going to let him distract her. “Tell me about Evelyn.”

  The elevator opened with a ding and a handsome middle-aged couple walked out, perhaps on their way back to their room from dinner. The doors slid closed behind them and they walked half the hallway to their room. In a moment, they were out of sight.

  “Evelyn Peters – and this is the story she’s telling me – was a physicist in the Soviet Union, one of the top minds of her time and highly respected.”

  “And her name was Evelyn Peters? That does not sound very Russian.”

  “Actually, I don’t know what her name was. Like I said, I met her only this morning, and I didn’t think to ask. But Evelyn the physicist claims that she invented technology that would allow for time travel.”

  “Time travel?” So far he was on the same page as the message she’d received.

  “Yes, time travel. She claims that she went back in time from our present time to 1983, where she was responsible for the assassination of a Soviet officer who, had she not killed him, would have become Premier. Apparently, he was a horrible person who tried to push the world into nuclear war, and she successfully stopped that from happening.”

  He was now adding a few more details for her – which was beneficial before she actually went to see Evelyn. Though Evelyn had been able to provide intimate details about her childhood in an effort to prove that they were actually the same person, she was still not fully certain. This man bringing up the assassination of a Soviet officer in 1983, however, resonated with her. She’d been there, as a little girl. She’d been sleeping, as it happened after her normal bedtime, and had woken to the sirens of emergency vehicles. She remembered very vi
vidly being told the news that General-Polkovnik Belochkin, her father-figure in the absence of her birth father, had been murdered. She remembered the red velvet banners that lined the streets during his funeral procession, and she remembered crying when the ceremonies ended and everyone went back to their regular lives. She was too young to consider the implications, the main impact on her being that her opportunities for relaxation and isolation were revoked and she spent all of her time training and studying at the Academy. According to Evelyn, and now this American, a life destined for scientific achievement was also lost.

  His eyes were evasive as he continued, which she attributed more to her assault on him than his apprehension of what was happening. “Unfortunately, Evelyn’s time travel technology did not allow for a way to get home. So she was stuck in 1983, and has lived the last three decades for a second time. She has experienced a reality that is vastly different than the one she’d already lived, and moved to America after the Soviet Union fell. I know this sounds really crazy, but this is the story she’s sent me here with.”

  “Why do you say the man who was assassinated would have become Premier? Even if she knew the future, and knew what this man was to become, Russia does not have a Premier.”

  She watched as he considered for a moment. “Premier,” he said quietly to himself. “Yes, it was ‘Premier’ that she said. The reason is because Evelyn didn’t come from Russia as we know it. She came from the Soviet Union.”

  “Yes, but the Soviet Union fell in 1991. Remember, your President Reagan? ‘Mr. Gorbechev, tear down that wall’?”

  “You’re right,” he said. “But Evelyn says she comes from a different history. One where the Soviet Union never fell. I understand it’s hard to wrap your brain around, but that’s what she says.”

  He was confused, which was not an obstacle. It would not affect the mission that Evelyn had offered her.

  “And how does any of this affect me?” she asked.