Fulfillment (Wilton's Gold #2)

by Craig W. Turner

  Then, the test: he turned the key and to his surprise – and utmost relief – it started. After saying a quiet thank you to the good folks at Toyota, he closed the door, set Abby’s tablet and the time device on the seat next to him, and put the car in reverse. He swung around the field and aimed it toward the hole in the trees that he and Ekaterina had emerged from, what seemed like days ago.

  He had no idea where he was going. But at least he didn’t have to walk.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  December 10, 2018

  Jeff sat on a park bench across the street from a tall circular glass building in a district he’d learned was called “Moscow City,” in Moscow’s Presnensky District. Surrounded by high-rise commercial buildings, he took his first bite of a blini stuffed with cheese that he’d purchased from a food truck which had since disappeared down the street. It reminded him of a crepe, and while it was delicious, he found it more amazing that they had food trucks in Russia. They were something he took for granted.

  He’d also been amazed to find that his debit card still worked, three years into the future, in a Russian ATM. He’d renewed it recently before leaving with Ekaterina, not knowing the additional time would come in handy. Thankfully, the bank hadn’t written him off yet, because he’d actually been able to get some cash, dinner, and a room for the night. The machine hadn’t told him his balance, but he was thankful that there was at least $250 U.S. dollars in the account, which was approximately what he’d withdrawn.

  Despite the chill in the air, the sun was warm on his face. He noticed it specifically. In fact, he felt as though he could sense everything around him much more succinctly than he ever had before. The smells of the city. The sounds of traffic and construction. It was no mystery to him why – he’d just survived possibly the most pervasive situation that any human being had ever encountered. And his life that had seemed pretty hopeless only the day before was now pretty okay.

  If only by comparison. One mistake that Jeff would never make again was to take his success in time travel for granted. Before they’d left, he’d had no reason to doubt that he and Ekaterina would not only return to the same time as they’d left, but the same reality. Of course, as the events had unfolded, and he’d learned that her mission and his were not the same, they’d returned to neither. Everything that Jeff had left in the hotel room – which included his passport, his luggage, and Erica’s smart phone that he’d brought back with him from 1849 – was long since gone. Being stranded halfway around the world in a foreign country without his documentation would’ve seemed pretty hopeless in itself at one point in his life, but compared to the alternate reality he’d come from, this seemed like a pretty minor setback now.

  He hadn’t even bothered going to the same hotel. They would’ve cleaned the room out three years before. His only hope was that they’d simply thrown the empty battery for the time device in the garbage with the rest of his stuff. He didn’t need that ending up in the hands of Russian scientists.

  He took another bite of the blini, which seemed to get more delicious the longer he sat here thinking. He crumpled up his second wrapper and tossed it into the garbage can next to his bench, letting his mind go to his experiences over the last thirty-six hours. He’d started to delve into it the evening before, but instead he’d just fallen asleep from exhaustion.

  The bottom line was that he’d been successful in a time travel experiment that he probably shouldn’t have been involved in at all. He’d been cocky. He’d been unprepared. And he’d been naive. By all accounts, he should have been stuck in some alternate reality, wandering the Russian countryside until he either died alone in a field somewhere or was imprisoned by America-hating Soviets. The odds had been clearly stacked against him, and it was only through a wavering of Ekaterina in her intentions and a logical interpretation of time travel working on his behalf, of which he’d only been about half-certain was accurate, that had together enabled him to survive and escape. He should not have been sitting here enjoying the sunshine.

  But all seemed well that ended well. He was safe, and now the only human being alive who had experienced a definitive alternate reality. What his experiences would do for his research he couldn’t begin to quantify, though he was intrigued at his new line of thinking. Previously, he would have categorized his research as being ninety percent about how to make time travel work with the remaining ten percent what would or could possibly happen if it did. He was now of a different mind. Alternate realities, multiple versions of a person in the same time and place, restoring a history that had been changed... This was where the real science was. But it was a perilous path, and he was glad it was behind him.

  There was one item he knew he could specifically cross off of his list, however: his and Evelyn’s shared theory of “fulfillment.” There was no such thing.

  That also meant that waiting back in 1849 was a woman who, despite her absence from his current reality, was the key to everything that had transpired. He was still intent upon finding her. Maybe she’d disappeared from the reality where he and Dexter had been watching from the brush, but it was clear to Jeff she was alive and well in another.

  Across the parking lot from where he sat, a rotating door of the tallest building initiated and a small group of a half-dozen people pushed their way through. They were business-types, all suited up, both the men and the women. It was lunchtime, and they were headed out for an hour-long breather away from the office. As much as Jeff hated the “desk job” life that he so fortunately didn’t have to have, seeing these folks made him badly want to be home. They could’ve been American, Russian, workers in any big city, but they were here in the comfortable routine of life. The atmosphere around him reminded him that he didn’t have that, and he knew he probably couldn’t for some time.

  In the back of the group, a 30-something woman with shoulder-length blonde hair laughed with one of the men, playfully shoving him from behind, then quickstepping to fall in line with him. They were laughing as they hopped down off the curb and into the parking lot toward a waiting car.

  It was her. The spitting image of the women who less than a day before had been his partner, his traveling companion, and ultimately his attempted assassin. Her hair was slightly different, but her face was the same. Only it carried a different look. He couldn’t remember seeing her laugh at all. Or even smile, in either reality. He thought back to his time with her and honestly couldn’t picture it. It looked nice.

  On a lark, Jeff had looked the night before to see if Ekaterina would show up in the public domain. He hadn’t had much hope. If the 5-year-old looking out the window at the murder scene in the backyard of General Belochkin’s house had become a spy as she’d been destined, it was unlikely he’d be able to find her.

  But she hadn’t become a spy. She was a businessperson – a marketing VP for one of Moscow’s most influential banks, according to her online profile. It was no surprise to Jeff that she would rise to a position of prominence. It was also no surprise to him that she would have avoided the life that he knew she had before. Seeing a patio full of death at five years old would change one’s outlook on life.

  He watched as they waited outside a green minivan for one of her coworkers to open the doors. This Ekaterina was free. She was not a child of the state, either bound to scientific pursuit or national security. She was a real person. He laughed to himself as he thought about Evelyn Peters. He thought this Ekaterina would have been more along the lines of what she’d wanted for herself.

  The group got into both sides of the minivan, which pulled out of the lot and down the street. Jeff followed it with his eyes, then looked back toward the building. The parking lot and surrounding property was now alive with people, and Jeff realized he’d been so focused on Ekaterina that he’d lost sight of everything and everyone else around him.

  He decided he’d spent enough time in Russia.

  Jeff pulled his cell phone from his pocket and thumbed through the phonebook, selecting a number.
After a pause, the line began to ring on the other end. A moment later, someone clicked on. “Federal Bureau of Investigation,” they greeted him.

  “Agent Fisher, please.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  December 11, 2018

  Jeff peered out the window next to his shoulder as the jet taxied to a stop in front of the terminal at Andrews Air Force Base. It had been a long flight from Moscow and he was looking forward to his bed. Of course, it was likely that his bed was no longer his, and he hadn’t figured out exactly what to do about that.

  He was far too exhausted to comprehend the reality of his situation, and had decided to try to exercise his patience. Answers would come. To him and only him, he had left the U.S. only about 72 hours before. But to everyone else it had been three years. Now that he was back in America, he was certain that the life he’d known three years before was gone. His house would have been foreclosed upon. His lab shut down. Those close to him would likely have moved on, believing he wouldn’t be coming back. And how could he blame them? There was no certainty at all. They would have had no news – no way of knowing what would have happened to him. He was there one day and the next day he wasn’t. For him, everything had happened pretty quickly. For them, almost a thousand days would have passed where they wouldn’t have heard from him. What else were they to do?

  Though he wasn’t a “friend,” Agent Fisher was among those who Jeff anticipated would be surprised to see him. Though his reaction on the phone wasn’t as spontaneous as he would have expected. He seemed to take in the news that Jeff had returned in stride, and then immediately delved into details. How to get him documents of identification. When they could secure a flight back to New York. He didn’t even inquire about Jeff’s story – just put him on a plane and brought him home.

  He could see Fisher now, standing in the sun on the tarmac and awaiting his arrival. He looked pretty much the same, though Jeff seemed to remember him not having the goatee. Of course, with everything that he’d been through, it was possible he just didn’t remember. In any case, even though his feet hadn’t officially set themselves on the ground, it was such a relief to be home. No matter what the date was.

  Admittedly, he wouldn’t have minded a little more of a reception. While there was sure to be mystery surrounding his reappearance, what he’d accomplished should have at least put him in the running to be classified as an American hero. He had saved the country.

  Once he was given the all-clear by the pilot, Jeff stood and made his way down the stairs and onto the pavement. He sniffed the air deeply. It smelled like America. Greatest smell ever.

  Fisher, standing alone, approached him. “Dr. Jacobs,” he said over the waning jet engine, greeting him.

  Jeff smiled. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you,” he shouted.

  “Well, we’re happy you’re back as well,” he said. Even over the noise of the jet engine, Jeff read sarcasm in his voice.

  “Look, I don’t know-” Jeff said, but Fisher cut him off, pointing at the engine of the plane, then his ear. He motioned for Jeff to follow him toward the terminal.

  “We’ll grab your luggage,” he said.

  Jeff patted the satchel hanging on his shoulder. “Don’t have any.”

  He followed Fisher away from the plane until the sound wasn’t as deafening. A set of automatic doors slid aside and allowed them entry into the terminal. Fisher stopped there and turned to Jeff. “You were saying?” he asked.

  “Yes. I don’t know what’s expected of me after returning from a mission – I’m sure there are de-briefings and what-not. But I understand I’ve been gone three years, and I have to attend to a number of personal matters as soon as I can. I hope that’s alright.”

  “Three years, you said?”

  Jeff nodded and rolled his eyes. “I imagine a lot’s changed.”

  “Do you have the device with you?”

  “Sure,” Jeff said, again patting the bag.

  He noticed Fisher glance to the side and suddenly strong hands took him by the shoulders. The bag was wrestled off of his arm and he felt the cold metal of handcuffs strapped onto his wrists behind his back. They emptied his pockets – his wallet, his cell phone. Still without seeing who was behind him, he fell to his knees, yelling in confusion. “What’s going on? What are you doing?”

  “Dr. Jacobs, you have the right to remain silent,” Fisher said to him in a monotone voice, reading him his full set of rights. Jeff couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying, instead trying to determine how many other agents had grabbed him. As he turned his head side-to-side, for some reason he saw at least three, and two others with weapons trained on him.

  “What’s going on?” he asked again.

  “Dr. Jacobs, you are under arrest for violating Code 246 of the United States Time Program – unauthorized time travel with the intent of changing history for personal gain.”

  The agents picked him up by his arms and aggressively sat him on one of the chairs in the waiting area. He looked around – they’d caught everyone’s attention. How often do you get to see someone arrested getting off a plane? To his side, he noticed one of the agents searching through his bag. He pulled out the time device and held it up for Fisher, who nodded back.

  “Changing history?” Jeff asked. “I only did what you told me to do.”

  “You ran, Jeff,” Fisher said. “You knew the rules – hell, you made the rules – and you took advantage.”

  “I knew the rules...” he repeated, trailing off before the agents grabbed him by his shackled arms and pulled him violently through the terminal. They emerged into the sunlight where a pair of black SUVs waited. He was stuffed into the back seat of the lead vehicle while Fisher climbed into the passenger seat. Jeff started to speak, but the other agent got in and they drove off.

  He’d never been to Andrews, so their route meant nothing to him. He’d been curious why they’d had him fly to DC instead of back to New Jersey, but had written it off as there really being nothing left for him in Jersey. His physicist’s mind was quickly trying to piece together the puzzle of how he’d ended up in this predicament, but nothing was coming to him. It seemed reasonable that, since he’d changed the story of Belochkin’s assassination and effectively eliminated Evelyn Peters’ existence, the chain of events connecting him with Fisher would not have happened. So he could understand why Fisher might not have known who he was. But clearly they had some sort of relationship that had gone sour. What had Fisher said? The United States Time Program? What the hell was that?

  It was less than a five-minute ride before the SUV jerked to a halt in front of an official-looking governmental building. The agents started to pull Jeff out of the back seat, but he was able to persuade them he was of no threat, so they backed off from being as physical with him as they’d been at the terminal. They walked as a group calmly into the front doors of the building, through the security checkpoint and down a long corridor, ultimately coming to a door that was non-descript, other than the fact that it was guarded by two MPs. Leading Jeff inside, they directed him to a seat, then everyone but Fisher left. Fisher took the seat across from him.

  Jeff looked around. It was a stereotypical interview room from the movies, with one-way glass on one wall. It was less cozy than the room at the psych hospital in the Bronx where he’d first met Evelyn – even worse with Fisher’s piercing stare trained on him.

  He started to say something, but Fisher held up a finger for him to wait. So he sat back in his chair. “Can you at least take the handcuffs off?”

  Fisher nodded and slowly made his way around the table and behind him. He pulled a key from his pocket and undid the cuffs. Their metal links rattled as he tossed them on the table.

  Before he could get back to his seat, though, the door opened and Jeff was immediately elated and terrified at the same time.

  It was Dexter.

  And yet, the look on Dexter’s face was not one of relief or happiness to see his friend back and sa
fe. Instead, it was stern and unforgiving. He was dressed in a suit and tie, which Jeff didn’t remember ever seeing before. Actually a good look for him. There was a dramatic pause as he stood in the door, but as Jeff watched his friend, he realized it wasn’t meant to be dramatic. It was momentarily indecisive, as if there were some internal battle that Dexter was having right in front of him. He wished he had a way of knowing what the two sides represented.

  Finally, Dexter closed the door behind him and took the chair next to Fisher. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. Jeff took the opportunity to strategize how he was going to answer their questions, no matter what those questions might be. He didn’t understand the context, but he did know that he could be defensive, he could be defiant, or he could be confident. Confidence, to him, meant relying on the science that had brought him here to make his case. He decided to go with confidence.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” Dexter finally asked, leaning forward on the table.

  He shook his head. “No clue. But I would think you’d be happy to see me. You don’t look happy, though.”

  “How can I be? You put me in an extremely tenuous position.”

  Jeff glanced over at Fisher for a moment. “You guys are going to have to explain to me exactly what happened. Last time I saw you, Agent Fisher was dropping me off at Teterboro Airport to fly to Russia.” He looked back at Dexter. “And you met me there.”

  “Never happened,” Fisher said.

  Dexter looked at him, then back at Jeff. “Why were you flying to Russia?”

  Jeff couldn’t help but let a laugh leave his lips. Maybe a little defiance would creep in. “Are you kidding me?”