And the Tide Turns

by Timothy Dalton

  Wallace addressed the Indian man. “Thanks so much, Dr. Parikh. You may go.”

  The doctor gave a slight bow, and left with the nail gun look-a-like.

  “What the fuck did you just do to me?” Ethan snapped. “That hurt like hell! Was it some kind of typhoid or malaria shot?”

  “No, we have situated a tracking device in your arm.”

  Ethan blanched. “I thought the watch was a tracking device.”

  “It is, but only when activated. The node we injected you with is always active. Inside the deep muscle tissue, it detects your biometric heart rhythm. As long as you are alive, it will transmit. If at any point your heart stops pumping, the signal dies. Our computers here can tell us if the transmission stops. No sense in trailing dead agents.”

  A thought came to Ethan. “Why couldn’t you find my uncle if he had one?”

  “When he was sent back we didn’t have access to these devices yet; otherwise we would have given him one as well.”

  “Whether he wanted it or not, huh?

  Again the phony smile. “This is why I misdirected you a moment ago; I didn’t want to fight your verbal objections if we simply asked permission. Time is short.”

  “Not that it would have mattered; I have a feeling my opinions are very low on any totem pole here. Has anyone ever told you you’re a devious bastard?”

  Wallace ignored the insult and said, “Please follow me.”

  “Now you ask for my permission – how thoughtful.” Ethan had the urge to punch Wallace. The presence of the commandos held him back.

  He followed with reluctance as Wallace led him to one of the computers against the far wall that displayed a digital map of the world map. “You see that blip?”

  Ethan saw a few dots were peppered on the screen but he zeroed in on the one Ben was pointing to. “Yeah.”

  “That is you, Mr. Tannor. Each node has a specific frequency, but as I said we can only track it as long as you are breathing. This morning we sent back several satellites. By our count today, they’ve been in orbit only a few hours, but in reality they’ve been circling the Earth now for close to forty years. And they’re still active, sending and receiving transmissions as we speak.”

  This was all more than Ethan could comprehend. The process seemed to be so seamless, but trying to understand it was enough to make his head hurt.

  Wallace began yammering again – something about high orbits versus low orbits, which over time can degrade. Ethan was still stewing with irritation and missed most of the monologue but forced himself back to the present after a few moments.

  “Now, we encode the signal,” Wallace was saying, “and not only does it indicate the frequency, but your name shows up on the screen.” A few taps on the keyboard and there it was: the dot and the words ‘Ethan Tannor’ hovering next to it.

  Seeing his name in pixilated form gave Ethan an idea. “Wait, I have a request.”

  Wallace frowned over at him. “And what is that?”

  “I’d like to use my middle name on this mission.”

  An eyebrow arched, but Wallace didn’t ask for elaboration. “Fair enough.” His fingers made another series of inputs and the letters changed in a blink. ‘Blake Tannor’ now glowed on the screen.

  Ethan heard Art’s words ringing in his ears,“It’s really amazing what they’re doing with computers and technology nowadays.” He shook his head. Buddy, you don’t know the half of it.

  Wallace gripped his shoulder. “Okay, so this is the important part; we need to recap your mission.”

  Ethan figured everything he’d heard since his arrival was ‘the important part’. This was feeling more and more like something from an episode of Mission: Impossible. Except he didn’t think Phelps and the crew ever did the Time Travel Tango.

  “You must stop the Russians from obtaining the method to travel forward in time. We don’t know their numbers in Adelaide for sure, but from what I’ve been told there are three of them: two Russians and a Japanese man.”

  “Terrible odds for me. Tobias will be there, won’t he? Perhaps I could use his assistance.”

  Wallace made a funny noise in his throat then said firmly, “No.”

  “So I’m alone in this – completely alone?”

  “Continuity, Mr. Tannor. The normal timeline will need to be preserved at all costs and reset. This is based on Gilford’s String Theory.”

  “Should I even bother asking what that is?”

  “It is very complex, but in layman’s terms it states that you can alter small events in the past by creating knots in the string instead of cutting the line completely, as it were, without disrupting the larger flow of history.”

  “And what if I mangle the history too much?”

  “It would cause problems for us here,” Wallace said. “In the past you can devise a future that is not this one. I know it’s hard to grasp in such a short time, but you must understand the importance of limiting your exposure and be committed to this. Your main objective is to stop the Sons of Stalin from carrying out their plans. Your secondary objective is to make sure there are no other opportunities for the group to carry on. To that end, Dr. Amhurst must die as planned.”

  Ethan blinked and took a step back. “Wait a minute. You never said anything about killing an innocent.”

  “Amhurst is far from innocent. His actions are the main reason for the War. Would you say that a man who causes the deaths of millions is innocent? It would be better if he had never invented that infernal machine. But he already has, and we lack the capacity to travel far enough back to prevent its creation.”

  “So how do I go about making sure he dies ‘as planned’?”

  “You don’t even need to kill him – the Russians do that much for you. Just make sure you don’t intervene too early. There are several files in your baggage that detail all your objectives and targets. Prep yourself well.”

  This mission was starting to fill up with guess work. “Maybe I should have done a crash course last night. Better yet, perhaps I should look at those files first.”

  “There is far too much for just one night of reading, and we don’t have that kind of time. Plus, we needed you well rested.”

  “Well thanks, ’cause I got loads of sleep after everything you told me,” Ethan said sarcastically.

  “Regarding your main objective,” Wallace continued like Ethan had not even spoken; he was good at that. “You need to secure the meteorite and place it in a protected location where it will be safe for the next thirty-eight years.”

  He did acknowledge Ethan’s puzzled look by holding up a finger to halt any questions. “You will put the rock into a safe-deposit box at this bank.” Wallace gave Ethan a slip of paper with the details. “That bank existed then and is still here today. Now, if you succeed in your mission, as soon as you’ve gone, the future timeline will change. Perhaps even without our awareness, our memories will change – and here is where it gets dicey.”

  Just here? Isn’t this whole fucking mess dicey?

  “As I said before, if you do change history, then in our present we won’t even know you’ve been sent back. Because technically, we will have never met.”

  Ethan put a hand to his brow. “This hurts my brain even thinking about it.”

  “That is the whole point of the tracking node,” Wallace said. “We may not remember sending you back, but that node transmitting a signal is the only proof that we did.”

  “I feel like I’m going to be a needle in a haystack.” Ethan stared down at the paper with the bank information, then stuffed it in his pocket.

  Something akin to sympathy flashed in Wallace’s eyes. “You will be; but we can find you, I promise. If you succeed in getting Amhurst’s rock into that deposit box, the meteorite should be in the Australian bank the instant you’re gone.”

  “I still don’t think I’m following. If you forget that you sent me, how will you even know to check for the box?”

  “There are ways to receiv
e messages from the past without the aid of banks. You let me worry about that part.”

  There it was again, the pacifying tone that quietly demanded obedience. Despite Ethan’s instinct that it would be foolish to place complete trust in this man, he found the opposite emotion battling for dominance. He told himself it was because he was about to jump down the rabbit hole; he needed something to tether to for support.

  Right?

  32 In the Heat of the Light

  April 25, 1986, 8:11 AM

  Ethan allowed himself to be guided into position in the middle of the large, round, elevated platform Wallace had dubbed ‘The Axiom’. He felt like a lamb being led to slaughter, but another part of him felt detached from the situation.

  Was he really doing this? Or was all of it just a dream? He touched the tender spot where the tracker chip had been implanted. It was still sore, but now that the bleeding had stopped the skin was only a soft pink. No, not a dream.

  Another random technician with hair the color of dirty beach and gray at the temples walked up onto the platform. He introduced himself as Ron and said that he would be hooking in the power source. He held a cord that was about as thick as a phone line and at its end was an inch long metal prong. Ron plugged the cord into a socket on the watch, then began inputting numbers into the timepiece from a slip of paper on his clipboard.

  “What are those?” Ethan asked, but feared the explanation would cross way above his head.

  “Coordinates.”

  “You mean latitude and longitude?”

  Ron nodded. “We can get a precise setting by inputting or marking a spot directly where you’re standing at any location. The watch itself has been programmed. The Earth is always moving, but we can transfer you to the exact spot we want, without the fear of sending you into outer space.”

  Ethan swallowed hard as that thought sank in.

  “Don’t worry, even if that happened you wouldn’t feel a thing. Your body would freeze instantly.”

  “That gives me … no comfort.”

  “Trust me, you are in capable –”

  Wallace interrupted the exchange with Ron. “Ethan, you need to understand something. This jump back in time isn’t going to be painless.”

  This jerked Ethan out of his semi-daydream of floating through space as an aimless human popsicle. He stared down at Wallace. “What? Now you tell me – when I’m at the precipice of doing something I already thought was Evel Knievel worthy.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.” Ethan regarded the metal around him with increased skepticism. “What kind of pain are we talking about on a scale of one to ten? Like a trip to the dentist or something?”

  “It will feel like something akin to open heart surgery without anesthesia.”

  “Well, that’s just great,” Ethan said dryly. “Maybe I need to re-think this decision.” But even he knew this was just talk. Part of him was terrified of this unknown he was about to jump into. But the other part – the one that had to know – was in control.

  “This experience is going to create heat and lots of it,” Wallace said, ignoring Ethan’s last quip. “Try not to scream or move around too much. And please, keep your eyes closed. We’d hate to waste sending you back only for you to be blind.”

  “I’ll run that up the flagpole and see who salutes it.”

  Wallace moved to stand behind the technicians monitoring their machines. Each one began running through their checklists, and Ethan soon heard voices around the room signaling that all functions were up and running.

  “We’re at full power,” someone said.

  Full power – it won’t be long now then. His body tensed in expectation and each voice that rang out amplified his growing anxiety. He felt strangely in tune with everything around him: the metallic smell in the air, the almost tangible sense of expectation that hung in the room, the fullness of his bladder … Shit! I should have gone to the bathroom one last time.

  “QLA is online.”

  “CFT check.”

  “Coordinates for transfer have been locked in.”

  “E.S.M.E.R. heating up.”

  “Security precautions set. We are a go.”

  “Commencing transfer in ten, nine, eight, seven …”

  And there was the countdown. He’d been listening for it since the checklist dialogue had begun. Now that it was here, each number called out over the intercom was like a stab in the gut. The anticipation grew beyond anything he’d felt before. His pulse quickened like he was running for a touchdown, and beads of sweat were sliding down his arms and tickling his ribs. He felt a trickle seep into one of his eyes and he closed them.

  “… six, five, four …”

  He wished they’d go ahead and push the damn switch. Be like a band-aid – just rip the fucker off.

  “… three, two, one!”

  Ethan felt the hairs on his arms rise up and a soft, electrifying current coursed through his body in one rippling motion. An intense light penetrated his eyelids, and he squeezed them tighter, but it didn’t help. Still, he heeded Ben’s warning and kept his eyes closed. Maybe he should have worn sunglasses.

  The noise around him was immense. Machines hummed like engines on full throttle and what sounded like a jet plane warming up to hit its afterburners pierced his brain. “THIS ISN’T SO BAD!” he screamed over the sound and felt his ears pop.

  Over the loudspeakers the intercom blared: “Mass core drive taking effect.”

  Wait. So there was more?

  Then his guts heaved like they were going through a blender, and his muscles felt like they were undulating beneath his skin. He tensed again as the painful sensations ebbed and flowed; every vein feeling like it was rising to the surface with each pulse of his heart.

  Ethan’s legs shook and he began losing his footing. It felt like gravity was shifting and up was now down. He hunched lower, trying to hold firm, but there was another spin in his midsection – longer this time. His legs buckled and he was forced to take a knee. Gravity switched on him again. There were no words to describe the magnitude of this pain. He fought the urge to scream. He was going to cross this metaphorical Rubicon any second; there would be no turning back.

  Through the blood roaring in his ears, Ethan heard the intercom again: “Mass core drive at maximum.”

  Then the heat came – fast and intolerable – even worse than before. There was another hard pull at his body, like the massive jawbone of a dog had clamped down on his torso. His lips peeled back from his teeth, and he screamed – loud and guttural, almost inhuman – and in that instant it felt like a burning log had been shoved down his throat.

  And then, like a breaker wire being tripped, all systems shut down in unison. Only the echoes of Ethan’s scream were left behind, reverberating off the walls as quiet descended upon the room.

  Unknown and unfelt, there was a shift. Ethan was like a stone hurled into a pond. And as with every tossed stone, there are always ripples.

  33 Death Spoof

  April 25, 1986, 5:34 AM

  “Well done everyone,” Ben Wallace said to the room of technicians. “Can you please turn on the mainframes?”

  A bespectacled man with shaggy hair spoke up. “Systems are coming back online, sir.”

  Wallace leaned over one of the computer monitors, studying the information with an expression bordering on desperation. “Are the satellites safely in place? I need a check of agents in the field and status updates on each.”

  Another voice said, “We have a signal that bumped in on November 29, 1948, from Adelaide, Australia, but the signal stopped transmitting on December 1, 1948.” A heartbeat later he added, “Looks like he’s dead sir. Should we have one of our scouts check for his body?”

  Ben froze, his fingers gripping the edge of the monitor. Slowly, he stood to face the bearer of bad news. “What was the field agent’s name?”

  The technician glanced down at his screen. “Encoding the dead signal now, sir.” He waited as the
computer reversed the encoding. “It says: Blake Tannor.”

  “Tannor,” Wallace murmured, his mind straining to remember. He strode quickly to the desk where his files were and pulled out sheets of paper, flipping through them until he found what he was looking for. “Ah! Ethan Blake Tannor – they’re one and the same. He’s the nephew of Tobias Keane. It’s the man from that incident at the diner.”

  He looked up and saw Jackman standing on the other side of the room, mute and motionless. Wallace said, “You’ve searched his apartment. Any leads to his whereabouts?”

  “Negative, sir; he’s off the grid.” Jackman’s face was serious. “The search teams were involved in a shootout, but other than that he’s still in the wind. The watch hasn’t been activated again since his uncle’s estate, but we’re assuming he still has it. We’ve done the reverse log on Mr. Keane’s phone. We found his lawyer, but he has also been unsuccessful in contacting Mr. Tannor.”

  “Anything else?”

  “There were several calls made from a mobile car phone. No recordings left on the answering machine.”

  “Did you trace its origin?”

  “Yes, but it had been removed and junked on the street,” Jackman said with more than a little annoyance.

  Wallace was frozen in deep concentration.

  Jackman moved to the desk to look at the monitor as well. “So, was this Blake Tannor successful? Did he find the location of the Russian cell? Where are they launching from? What about the meteorite?”

  Snapping out of his transfixed state, Wallace held up a hand to halt the questions. “We need to check the safe deposit box. Call Lucas – he’s waiting for us to give him the verbal to check.”

  The room seemed to hold its collective breath while Jackman dialed out. The commando spoke in rushed sentences, then pressed the phone to his chest and said, “He’s checking now.” He brought the receiver back to his ear and waited, his face tense with expectation.

  Wallace stared at Jackman, feeling his jaw muscles twitch. Everything was on the line here.