“Right, then. Shall we talk about device modifications? Despite your fascinations with 1942, I’m sure you’ll tire of the novelty sooner than later and want to get back to your own time,” Epson said, moving on.
Peter and Julie ate their breakfast while the doctors discussed their plans for repairing the device.
CHAPTER 10
Michael Gallagher pulled away from the base exit in a rush. The timing couldn’t have been worse, as it was the first full day that Drs. Lamb and Larsson were in the lab for assistance. To make matters worse, Dr. Epson had been called into an emergency “all-hands” meeting with the base commander at precisely the same time a telegram was delivered from the Society.
The missive was short and precise: “Must Meet Immediately,” followed by a new meeting locale. With Epson out, he’d had no other option than to leave the doctors alone in the lab. He pounded the steering wheel in frustration.
Turning north toward the city, Gallagher accelerated down the dangerously winding road. The message inspired haste, but only to a certain point. He backed off the accelerator but still kept it above the speed limit.
He wondered why the sudden urgency. He’d made it clear to Emmett that the team had not been allowed on base until that morning. Did the Society suspect something soon? he wondered. The two doctors had barely been in the lab for a few hours and had only been familiarized themselves with the most current experimental data, along with the collected algorithms during their arrival.
Gallagher swerved around a slow-moving convertible before returning to his frantic speed. The thought of leaving them alone in the lab, where they might possibly isolate his creative deconstruction, made his heart beat faster. Realizing that the whole ordeal was out of his control, for the moment at least, he tried to focus on the morning traffic.
Ten minutes later, he eased off the accelerator and merged into the city. He reached into the glove box and pulled a city map from beneath a Walther PP. Flipping it open, he searched for his destination without pulling over. After nearly rear-ending the car in front of him, he maneuvered his Plymouth onto a side street.
With the engine idling, he laid the map across the seat next to him. In just a few minutes, he found the address of the meet in relation to his current position. Five minutes later, he pulled in front of the Pacific Telephone Building and was immediately met by a man in a grey suit.
“Hello, Mr. Gallagher. You are expected. Take the elevator up to the twenty-third floor, where you will be met.”
Gallagher did as he was instructed, and upon entering the building, he turned toward the bank of elevators to the left. The polished brass elevator doors parted, and he was lifted to his destination in moments.
The doors opened, and before he could step out, he was greeted by another man in a grey suit. “This way, Mr. Gallagher.”
Gallagher followed the man through a maze of windowless corridors until he came to a pair of large mahogany doors. Without hesitation, the man thrust open both doors and stepped inside.
The room was enormous. It was nearly half the size of Dr. Epson’s entire warehouse laboratory, and the side walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. At the far end of the room sat a single desk with two chairs. Behind the desk was a window that captured a view of Bay Bridge.
“Ah, Mr. Gallagher. Please come in. Thank you, Cornwell. That will be all.”
Gallagher stepped nervously into the excessive office and walked toward the welcoming man. He was middle aged, dressed in a suit, but nondescript. He stood as Gallagher approached.
“Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything, Michael? Can I call you Michael?”
“Uh, sure. And you are?”
“I’m Asher. Asher Mandrake,” he said as he extended his hand.
Michael took his hand but nervously avoided the man’s face.
“It’s quite all right. I won’t bite,” Mandrake joked. “You’ve done a wonderful job shadowing Dr. Epson; I felt it was time for us to meet.”
Michael sat across from Mandrake and nodded.
“I would imagine that things are very exciting right now in the lab. Do you have anything to report?”
“I . . . I really don’t. Just what I relayed to Emmett a few days ago.”
“Right. Something about the scientists from the future gaining unrestricted access to the military base? And to Dr. Epson’s research?”
“That’s right. In fact today was the first day that they’ve been allowed on base,” Michael said before adding, “and, unfortunately, I had to leave them alone in the lab to come here.”
“Alone?”
Michael feared a reprimand was coming. “That’s right, sir. Dr. Epson had been called into an emergency meeting. There was no alternative.”
Mandrake contemplated as he listened to Michael explain the situation. After a moment, he said, “Although that is unfortunate, no harm will come of it. It’s not like they’re going to flash back to the future today, right?”
“Um, no. From what I’ve gathered, their return isn’t scheduled until late September or early October. It all depends on when they can get the device functioning properly.”
“See? Nothing to worry about. Are all your precautions still in place?”
“They are, but the two scientists are extremely sharp. They appear to know more about the machine than Dr. Epson does himself.” Gallagher paused. “They somehow knew that the issues with the machine were isolated to the transmission chamber and that the receiving chamber was in working order. All from the future, I might add.”
Mandrake listened, staring at Michael intently. “And you fear they’ll find out what’s been causing the test failures?”
“I do. Not right away, but they’ll figure it out eventually.”
“I see. I see,” Asher said as he nodded in agreement. “What of the other two? Are they as bright as the two doctors?”
“Peter seems to be their leader. The doctors talk science, while Julie tends to follow Peter’s lead.”
“And what about Julie? Julie Frey?”
“Yes, that’s right. She’s Peter’s wife, but strangely, she has a different last name.”
“Peculiar. What is their function here?”
“That’s the odd part. Peter mentioned that they were going to be conducting some kind of historical research and that they were here to eliminate any trace of their existence while here in our time.”
“And you don’t believe them?”
“I don’t think so. I feel like they’re hiding something. Who would risk their lives to come back in time just to provide cleanup and wander around like tourists throughout the city?”
“Frankly, I believe him, Michael. If they left any sort of trace of their existence here in the past, the ripple effects would be vast. If they are as wise as you say, they’ll effectively be ghosts while they’re here.”
“There’s something else,” Michael began. “Peter has left the hotel a few times, late at night, alone.”
“Have you been following him?”
“I tried to one night, but he eluded me. He drove north from their hotel, and he must have made a turn I missed, and I lost him.”
“Thank you for trying, Michael. You certainly weren’t trained for that sort of thing. You’re dedication has been admirable. We’ll put someone at the hotel so you can focus on your own objective.”
“And what might that be?”
“To keep them from returning to 2013, naturally. We cannot have them report back that the time machine works. Before long, it would be opened like a highway through time.”
“I’ve tried, sir. I truly have. But I’m not sure what else I can do to stop them, short of . . .”
“Short of . . . murder? Is that what you were going to say?”
“Y-yes.”
“Michael, I appreciate your dedication to the cause, but you know the Society doesn’t condone taking another human life. No matter what the stakes. No, we need to find another way.”
&n
bsp; “I’ll try my best to stop the machine from functioning, but unless you have a better idea . . .”
“Well, we are working on something. Something that I’m hesitant to —”
“I’m all ears, sir. If I’m—or hell, we are—to succeed, anything you can give me will help, I’m certain.”
Mandrake pondered Michael’s request and nodded. “I suppose you’re right. We need to convince the travelers that they should not return to their own timeline, whether we tempt them monetarily or instill them with trepidation.”
“I don’t follow, sir,” Gallagher confessed.
“If bait won’t work, we may have to trap them. Persuade them to stay until the war ends.”
“You mean kidnap them?”
“Kidnap is such a harsh word,” Asher said. “We’ll just . . .” his words drifted off.
“Yes?”
“Michael, I need you to return to the lab. I’ve got another idea, but I will need Society approval before we can proceed.”
Michael nodded. “Okay. I’ll wait for word from you, then?”
“Yes, Michael. You’ll hear from Emmett or me shortly,” he said as he rose from his desk.
Michael stood as well, recognizing the end of the meeting.
“Michael, I need you to be sharper than ever. If any new developments arise, do not hesitate to contact Emmett.”
“Contact Emmett?” Michael asked. “Shouldn’t I get word to you directly?”
“No, no. It’s far too risky. This meeting today was an enormous risk, but it was a calculated risk. Until you hear from me directly, Emmett will continue to be your contact.”
“Yes, sir,” Gallagher said as they approached the large double doors.
“And, Michael? Keep that devilish machine from working. I know you have it in you to evade detection. You are much craftier than you give yourself credit for.”
Michael appreciated the words of confidence from Mandrake. “I will, sir. I’ll make sure they don’t suspect a thing.”
CHAPTER 11
Peter slipped out the side door of the hotel lobby and into the night. He opted to walk the dozen or so blocks from his hotel to the bay to help calm his nerves before breaking into, arguably, the most secure facility in 1942 San Francisco.
The night was cooler than it had been since they’d arrived, but Peter didn’t mind. At his brisk pace, he would normally be covered in sweat within minutes. The chill kept the perspiration at bay.
The walk had an additional benefit: it gave him roughly forty-five minutes for a final review of his plan for breaching the mint. He’d reviewed the blueprints for countless hours before leaving 2013 and felt that he knew the floor plan better than anyone.
He knew that the closet in the basement housed a safe containing an artifact taken by the US government from Tutankhamen’s tomb. He also knew that the second floor housed not only the clerical department but also a secret office for the governor of California when he was visiting the city. Peter had researched the whereabouts of the governor at the time and discovered he was in Bakersfield; no extra security would be present.
Lastly, he knew exactly where the misprinted monies and coin overruns scheduled to be voided were kept. It was a small anteroom next to the coining repository. The small chamber might very well have been mistaken for a utility room or janitor’s closet. He had Chet to thank for the bulk of his research. Between his tales of working in the mint as a tour guide, and Peter’s own blueprint, his plan was rock solid.
As Peter neared the Embarcadero, he slowed his pace and tried to maintain control of his breathing. His planned forty-five minute walk had taken only thirty minutes due to his brisk pace.
Stopping along the rope barrier near the edge of the bay, Peter surveyed the surroundings, looking for any night owls that might be hunting. Satisfied with the solitude, he dropped down the embankment and proceeded to the sewer outlet. He pulled out his flashlight and walked into the gloomy abyss.
Peter began his route toward the mint much like he had on his first trip through the sewer. He was much more confident on the second foray into the city's underbelly, as he now carried a sidearm that he had bought from a pawn shop the night before. Although he never saw what made the disturbing sounds on the night of his dry run, his mind certainly explored the gruesome possibilities, and he adjusted the holster at his hip.
Without the need of his map, Peter was able to navigate past many of the discrepancies that he had previously found throughout the storm drains. He leaped across the diversion chamber without hesitating or faltering, continuing past it without breaking his stride.
When Peter made it to his halfway point, he heard the first guttural howl of the night. Since stepping into the tunnel system, he'd been prepared for the eerie assault on his eardrums. Still, the sound made his bones tingle. He hastened his pace, with his right hand resting on the grip of his gun.
It wasn't until he arrived at an unfamiliar Y-intersection that Peter unfolded his hand-drawn diagram of the sewer system. After several minutes of backtracking, he arrived at the vault below the courtyard.
Peter waved the beam of his flashlight along the chamber walls, refamiliarizing himself with his surroundings. On the right he noticed the rusty stair treads lying on the floor from his previous visit. On the left was the other set of rungs leading straight up the concrete wall. Before beginning his assent to the courtyard above, he reached high up the side wall and pulled his stashed duffle bag down. He rested the flashlight on the ledge and changed into the stowed clothing.
Moments later, Peter climbed up to the storm grate, reaching the courtyard within moments. Sliding the drain cover to the side, mindful to keep it from grinding across the pavement, he hoisted himself up to a crouched position. He replaced the grate and quickly moved to the side of the courtyard.
Hunkered next to the wall, he visualized the blueprint of the main floor. The courtyard was surrounded by stone edifices on three sides. The fourth side was open to the street, which was blocked by a two-tier gate system. Throughout the courtyard were several ventilation hoods. They were ducted to the basement level of the facility, one of which was Peter’s entry point. He explored each hood until he located the fresh-air duct located along the north wall. He left his cover and began to walk across the courtyard when he heard something. He froze instantly. A moment later, the familiar clank of a metal door closing echoed in the night. Peter rushed to the space between the van and the wall and waited in silence.
“I don’t care what you say, I’m never gonna pay twenty-seven cents to see a movie about a baby deer. Paying that much for any movie is highway robbery,” said the first man coming into view.
“What about your wife and children? Don’t you think you owe it to them?” asked the second man, following a few paces behind.
The first employee pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to his friend. Peter seized the opportunity to get out of sight. He quietly dropped to the ground and rolled under the van, but the toe of his boot struck the rear quarter panel.
“What was that?” asked the man pulling a cigarette from the pack.
“What was what?” The other man glanced about the empty courtyard.
“I thought I heard something.”
“I didn’t hear anything. Maybe it’s your mind playing tricks on you. Maybe it’s Bambi’s mother coming back from the dead.”
“Very funny, wise guy. I’m telling you, you’ll get great mileage with the family if you take them to the show.”
“I’m sure I would, but all I’m sayin’ is, I’d have to work an extra four hours just to pay for the damn cartoon. That’s just not practical.”
Peter lay silent as the two workers debated the merits of whether or not to see the Disney film while they smoked their cigarettes. From his prone position, he could see their feet a few yards away. As they talked, their feet shuffled in a small semi-circle around the drainage grate he came through just moments before. Patiently, Peter waited.
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br /> A few minutes later, their conversation ended and the last of their cigarette butts having been thrown into the storm drain, the men walked out of sight. Peter scrambled out from beneath his cover to see which door they entered. It was the single door in the west wall, and from Peter’s recollection, it led into the main corridor that ran along the perimeter of the facility.
Noting the door’s proximity, Peter quickly reevaluated his plan. If he didn’t have to dismantle the vent hood to gain access, so much the better. He sprinted to the west wall, sticking to the shadows as best he could. Leaning against the wall next to the door, he tried the handle. Unlocked. Peter’s pulse rose as he pulled the door open and peered in. The corridor was clear in both directions. Without hesitation, Peter stepped through the opening and casually walked in the direction of a janitor’s closet at the end of the hall.
Peter reached for the door handle, hoping for an easy access. It was unlocked. Don’t they lock up anything around here? he mused. Stepping into the small closet, he flipped on the light and closed the door behind him. After a cursory examination of the cramped room, Peter found what he was looking for. He pulled the largest of the three freshly cleaned overalls from a hanger and quickly stepped into them, zipping the front over his clothing. Pausing long enough to take a few deep, calming breaths, Peter backed out of the closet, pulling a garbage cart with him.
He made his way down the corridor toward the coining room, occasionally stopping to empty various wastebaskets into his cart. As he turned the corner, he came face-to-face with one of the mint employees. Peter’s anxiety strangled his throat, but they simply nodded to one another as they passed. Peter released a huge sigh and casually walked into the coining room.
As expected, the room was empty. From his research, he knew the midnight to 6:00 a.m. shift had no staff pressing coins. He continued toward the anteroom on the far side of the repository. Peter glanced over his shoulder as he reached for the door, and to his satisfaction, he was alone.
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