Fulfillment (Wilton's Gold #2)

by Craig W. Turner

  “You’re not really offering me much of a choice. I’m going to take her to Russia and help her assassinate a general in 1983.”

  “She’ll behave?”

  “Why wouldn’t she? She’s only following her own instructions.”

  “Is she?”

  “She said she had the letter from Evelyn. I gave her more details just now, and I’m sure if she has questions she can get back in contact with Evelyn.”

  “Oh, I’m not going to let them contact each other.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  “Do I really have to explain that to you?”

  “I suppose you don’t, but how are you going to stop them from calling or e-mailing?”

  “I’m talking more about them seeing each other face-to-face.”

  Jeff shook his head. “No, you don’t have to worry about that. Evelyn’s already said that she won’t let that happen. In fact, she asked me to help make sure it didn’t.”

  “Good. Time travel is too unpredictable.” Fisher looked around the bar. “Are you going home now, or do I have to follow you? I’ve had a long day.”

  “You have?” he asked, laughing. “You could give me a ride.”

  Fisher laughed and stood. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

  With that, he turned and left. Which Jeff didn’t think he’d actually do – the request for a ride had been a sincere one.

  Jeff finished his drink and made his way out of the bar to find the closest subway station.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ekaterina had seen the man at the bar watching Dr. Jacobs. She’d figured they were being followed and imagined she wouldn’t have much time over the next 48 hours when she wouldn’t be.

  After lingering long enough to watch the man take her vacated seat, she determined that it afforded her the best opportunity for some time alone. Come morning, she would be under constant surveillance. Hopefully, for now, they believed she was exhausted from her trip and settling into a hot bath.

  Instead, Ekaterina was in a taxi cab headed for the Bronx. She was certain they would not be allowing her to see Evelyn Peters, even supervised – the Americans were far too devious. They had their own outcome they were seeking, and it was not related to meeting the request of a crazy old Russian woman. Even though Dr. Jacobs held the technology they needed, the operation was squarely in the hands of the U.S. government now. The agent’s appearance at the hotel confirmed that for her. But from her perspective, she hadn’t been given all of the information she needed. She intended to get it, though.

  There were obstacles, of course. There was a possibility that FBI agents were stationed at the hospital. It was also likely that visiting hours were long over. She would have to be crafty if she wanted to find a way in to see Evelyn. Those were the practical matters. At the same time, she was trying to suppress the sheer terror she felt about coming face-to-face with the elder version of herself. It was wholly unnatural, and while she knew enough about her own confidence – which had never failed her – she couldn’t begin to imagine the impact that seeing Evelyn would have on her.

  Manhattan’s glowing skyscrapers disappeared behind her and soon her driver was pulling off of the highway. A moment later, the car stopped in front of the hospital that just a week earlier she’d been reading about on-line. She paid the fare and stepped onto the sidewalk facing the front doors. Looking up at the enormous building, she took a deep breath. Timing was at play, as well. If she followed legitimate protocols to see Evelyn, within a matter of minutes a series of phone calls would be made and the FBI would be aware of it. That was probably the more perilous path for her.

  She’d infiltrated facilities far more secure, so it was confusing to her why this one seemed to be such an impediment. She knew that stealth would be her best option. The catch was that she didn’t know where to find Evelyn.

  Standing outside, she purposefully hurried her breathing, almost to the point of hyperventilating. Then she entered the front doors and hastily approached the front desk. It was nearing 10 p.m., but the station was still manned by a security guard, a young African-American man in uniform. He looked up at her without saying a word.

  She analyzed him as she approached, her chest pounding from the heavy breathing. A night watchman, which she interpreted as a lower position in the security force at the hospital. His face read meekness, but she didn’t want to underestimate him. The way he looked at her, however, the look in his eyes, suggested he was fairly new on the job, with only a basic skill level as a guard. He’d said nothing, which meant he was hoping to avoid visitors at this time of night. Just looking for peace and quiet. It would work perfectly.

  “¡Mi hermano! Él estaba en un accidente de coche. ¿Dónde está él?” she asked, far too quickly for even a Spanish-speaking person to decipher. She was completely out of breath.

  “¿Inglés?” the man asked.

  She shook her head, hoping the anguish on her face was matching her tone of voice.

  The man sighed and stood, holding up a finger for her to wait. He left the desk for a moment and ducked into a doorway ten meters down the hallway. In the short moment his head was out of sight, she peered over the desk where a laminated sheet attached to a clipboard listed the room numbers of every patient in the facility. She quickly found the room assigned to “Peters” and returned to a standing position.

  The guard returned with a young Hispanic nurse, who approached her calmly. Ekaterina went into a frenzied tirade about a car accident and trying to find her brother who was in a hospital in the Bronx. The nurse helped her sort out in Spanish that her brother was most likely at Bronx-Lebanon Hospital, about four or five miles away. Ekaterina shrugged off directions, thanked the woman, and darted out the door. Once outside, she slowed her pace and diverted around the east side of the building.

  The grounds of the hospital were fairly well-lit, but not brightly enough that she would attract attention. Once away from the parking lot, she became a shadow.

  She wasn’t looking for any specific way in – just a way in. After about ninety seconds, she came across a small fenced area that looked as though it would be used for loading and unloading. With a bound and two quick steps up, she was quietly on the other side of the fence. The door on the loading dock was little challenge for her to unlock, and she quickly slipped inside. No alarm sounded.

  She was in a large room. It was dark where she was, but across the room it was well-lit with fluorescents. A repetitive whirring sound told her that she was in the laundry area. She could see activity, but there was enough noise that she could sneak through unnoticed. Within a minute, she was in the bright hallway, headed for the closest stairwell. Inside, she took the steps three at a time and quickly reached the twelfth floor.

  Ekaterina peered through the door and saw no one, so she slid out the door and along the wall. She used the directional signs on the hospital walls to find Evelyn’s room, then with a deep breath crept inside.

  Though it was too dark for Ekaterina to get a good look at her, she heard a soft snore and knew Evelyn was sleeping. Not wanting to startle her into a scream that would attract whoever was watching the floor that night, she whispered her name softly – “Evelyn.” It wasn’t enough. She realized that the dark would cause more of a stir than if she could see, so she retraced her steps across the room and switched on the light.

  This time Evelyn stirred, but Ekaterina’s attention become focused elsewhere. Everywhere she looked, Evelyn had decorated her room with remnants of the Soviet Union. Her heart leapt. Immediately, she was invigorated by her dedication and heart-broken over the burden she’d had to bear all of these years.

  She heard a whimper and turned back to the bed. Evelyn’s eyes were starting to open and now widen, so she put her finger over her lips with one hand, calming her with the other by rubbing her arm softly. “It’s me,” she said. “Ekaterina.”

  After a moment of panic in Evelyn’s face, she softened. She struggled to sit up in her bed and Ekate
rina helped her to prop up her pillows. She quietly pulled a chair over from the table on the far wall and sat bedside.

  Evelyn smiled. “You made it,” she said. Ekaterina had seen that smile a million times before in her own bathroom mirror, and realized that in her mind, the last traces of her skepticism were disappearing quickly. Until that moment, the entire trip had been a gamble. She knew that if she’d gotten to New York and the trip had been fruitless, she would have simply taken the time to see a Broadway show and grab a slice of pizza, chalking it up as a life experience. But now seeing her own eyes in Evelyn’s, she knew she was in for whatever was being asked of her.

  “I did,” she said in a whisper. “But I won’t have much time here. The FBI already knows that I am in America.”

  “Did you find Dr. Jacobs?”

  She nodded. “He found me. But an agent was following him and saw us together. When he approached Dr. Jacobs, I left the hotel to come see you.”

  Evelyn was thinking, then shrugged. “That’s not a problem,” she said. “You would have connected tomorrow anyway. And it’s Dr. Jacobs that will have to explain why he didn’t tell them he’d found you.”

  “Well, their interest will probably be invigorated when they realize what I do for a living.”

  The conversation was moving forward too casually and too quickly. This was a monumental thing that was taking place in the history of the world, the history of science, and they were chatting like they’d just made an everyday airport pick-up. Ekaterina didn’t want to overdramatize what was happening, but if there was one instance in her life that deserved it, this was it. “I can’t believe you’re me,” she said, shaking her head.

  Evelyn smiled. “I guess I’ve been dealing with it a little bit longer than you have,” she said, touching Ekaterina’s hand, which she noticed was now resting comfortably on the mattress. “One of the problems with time travel science is that we spend so much time studying to see if time travel is actually possible, we forget to consider what can happen when we actually do it. I’ve had thirty years to think about it.”

  “And what have you come up with?”

  “I’ve learned that small changes can cause big effects,” she said, then looked down at her legs, thinking.

  Ekaterina shrugged. That one seemed obvious. “Multiple versions of yourself? What about a world where you’re the only person that knows the true history of the Soviet Union?”

  “That’s why I documented everything I could remember. But it doesn’t matter. Because it isn’t the ‘true’ history of the Soviet Union in this reality. This is. The one you know. Whatever happened in a different reality doesn’t matter for anything. My writings might as well be a work of fiction.” She pointed at the closet. Ekaterina looked, but didn’t know what she was referencing.

  “Do you regret your decision?”

  Evelyn started to laugh, but stopped herself. “In some ways yes, in other ways no.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I would think you would know as well as anyone.”

  “How could I?”

  She sighed. “I guess you’re right. The more appropriate question is, ‘If I knew the full impact of what I did ahead of time, would I have done it again?’ The answer is no. I would not have sacrificed my country to stop one tyrant. But given the information I had at the time, was it the right thing to do? I believe it was.”

  “What could you have learned that was so bad?”

  Evelyn stopped. “Honey, there’s a pitcher of water on the table over there with a glass. Can you please pour me some?”

  She stood and walked across the room to the table, rolling her feet quietly. While she poured the water, she took a moment to take a closer look at the paraphernalia lining the walls. Evelyn’s room was a museum of Soviet history – the real Soviet history that ended in the early 1990s. She had framed newspaper articles about great Soviet feats from the 1980s, the teal uniform of a Soviet Podpolkovnik, a handkerchief featuring the gold hammer-and-sickle insignia of the U.S.S.R., and various denominations of Soviet paper rubles. Probably anything she could get her hands on given her limited access to the world.

  As she scanned the wall, though, she noticed the light of the hallway under the door to Evelyn’s room and thought that someone passing by could see light coming from the inside. Before bringing the water to Evelyn, she rolled up a towel and covered the opening. She brought the glass back to the bed and Evelyn drank it down hungrily. Then she set the glass on the nightstand.

  “How long do you think you can be here?” she asked after wiping her mouth with the corner of her sheet.

  “Probably not much longer.”

  “Alright, then,” she said, nodding. “What do you need me to tell you?”

  Ekaterina sat back down in the chair and held her hands out. “That’s an enormous question,” she said. “How can I begin to know what’s important?” She noticed Evelyn had not answered the previous question, which meant that Belochkin’s intentions must have been particularly heinous.

  “You were there that night, weren’t you?”

  “I was, yes.”

  “What do you remember?”

  It seemed a strange question to her. Wouldn’t she have the same memories? But she reminded herself that under the scenario that Evelyn had presented, she would not have the General’s assassination in her memory. Her memories would instead be filled with days spent at the compound and growing up living her life along a very different track. “Nothing, really. I was sleeping. When I awoke, there were emergency vehicles and they told me that Belochkin had been murdered. I didn’t have much of a chance to ask questions or learn any new information. I was quickly shuttled back to Moscow and resumed my studies at the Academy. Seldom was it spoken of again, and no one in any way connected me to it.”

  “As in you being the murderer?” From the look on Evelyn’s face, she thought that was preposterous.

  She shook her head. “No, not any presumption of guilt. No one addressed with me that Belochkin’s death could have had any impact on my life, beyond the obvious note that I’d no longer be a guest at the compound.”

  “Honestly?”

  “No. I’m not saying that the General’s death was ignored – I remember grand processions and memorials for weeks following. But there was never any reference that I had a connection to Belochkin beyond that of any other student at the Academy. It was strange in a way.”

  “I imagine so. How did that make you feel?”

  She thought for a moment. It had been so long ago, and only in the past week had she allowed herself the opportunity to remember. “I guess the best way to describe it would be confusing. I – we – didn’t have our parents to shepherd us through tragedy. The General was our father figure. There was no one else to step up and take on the responsibility.”

  Evelyn paused for a second, thinking, looking Ekaterina in the eyes. “How do you feel about what happened with our parents?”

  They heard a noise in the hallway outside the door and Ekaterina turned to the door. Not that the situation was untenable, but both she and Evelyn had a reason for their covert meeting and she didn’t want the FBI involved. If she was found in the room, they’d be the first call from the hospital.

  They kept quiet for a moment, then each of them let out a breath. “Not much longer,” Ekaterina said. While she had hundreds of questions to ask Evelyn about who they were, she knew that conversation wasn’t an option right then and there. Or likely ever. But there was a question on the table. “It’s hard to argue with what happened. We would not have received the opportunities we did living on a barley farm. Belochkin was watching out for our best interests, and we wouldn’t have become what we have without his interference.”

  “I looked him in the face for a second before I killed him,” Evelyn said, staring across the room. “I’ll never forget that moment. It haunts me. I went back in time to kill a bad man. But the look in his eyes was not one of a bad man. It was one of a caretake
r. A father. A patriot. But it was too late at that point. It’s one of the primary reasons that I want you... I need you to do this. To relieve me of that memory.”

  “How will this provide you relief?”

  “Ekaterina, if you go back and fulfill this mission, when you return I won’t be here.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “Because you’re me. Dr. Jacobs is the key. His time travel device will allow you to return to the present. Mine didn’t. You will be taking my place in 1983, and when you return to the present, there won’t be a ‘me’ stuck in that time.”

  She wondered how the same mind with a different upbringing could approach things so differently. That hadn’t even occurred to her. “Is the memory that bad?”

  Evelyn nodded.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Well, you’re in the position to help me,” she said. “If you and Dr. Jacobs are able to complete the mission, which shouldn’t be difficult given your skill set and the instructions I emailed to you, you will undo thirty years of pain for me. I will simply live in your mind as one possible outcome of a future that you’ve regained control of.”

  She couldn’t think of anything to say, so she simply nodded.

  Evelyn patted her hand again. “I know you’ll be able to come through,” she said.

  A tear started to run down Ekaterina’s cheek – uncharacteristic for her. “I have so many questions.”

  “Yes, but your intuition is right,” she said. “We don’t need the FBI knowing that you were here. You’d better go before someone finds you. They’ll be popping their heads in at some point. I’m a light sleeper, so I always know.”

  “Why did you tell Dr. Jacobs that you said you were my mother?” She guessed this had been done strategically, and she didn’t want to tread on something that Evelyn had put into motion.

  “I thought it was best to not let the Americans think we’re on the same page,” she said. “Just to be safe. We don’t know what they’d use against us.”