by Erik Foge
“Hi, Jacques; what’s wrong?”
He sighed deeply. “It’s about Erik.” He motioned her to get in. Once she was seated, he drove toward their residence.
Jamie’s palms started to sweat. Jacques’ behavior had made her uneasy. “Is anything wrong with Erik?”
He glanced in the rearview mirror, then gave her a blank stare.
“Is he okay?” she said, as a lump formed in her throat.
Jacques squared off his shoulders and said in a tight voice, “Just be quiet and listen to me.”
Jamie nodded. Her heart was sinking fast.
“I think he is…”
“What?” She shook her head, not wanting to hear. “No, he can’t be. Is he dead?” Her eyes began to water.
“No, he’s not … dead … Let me finish! This is isn’t easy to explain. And it’s not something I should even be telling you, but …” He turned to face Jamie, and he saw her pale reflection in the polarized lenses of his aviators. “I believe the people who sent him on his business trip want him dead.”
“The museum?”
He shook his head.
“Alan?”
Again he shook his head.
“Then who? Why do they, whoever they are, want him dead?”
“I don’t know why, but once we get to your place you need to pack lightly and bring a few personal things.”
“Why? Jacques, where is he?” she demanded. “Why do I need to pack?” She stuck her hands on her hips and jutted out her chin.
He shook his head and looked as if he didn’t expect her to believe him. “The real question is what year is he in?”
“What year he’s in?” Jamie said in confusion. She shot Jacques a look of annoyance. “Okay, you can stop with the games now.”
Jacques removed his aviators and looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Jamie, this is going to be hard for you to understand, but Erik is in France—in 1944. And I’m not playing games. It’s the truth. That’s where he is, and when he is. ”
Jamie gasped. Jacques’ voice left her in no doubt that he was dead serious. Her mouth opened but she couldn’t find words to express and the mixture of shock, disbelief, and anxiety that was crashing through her in waves.
“I don’t know how or why.” Jacques continued. “All I know is that he’s in trouble and we need your help to help him.”
“Me?” Jamie squeaked.
Jacques nodded. “And there’s another thing.”
Jamie stared out the front window and tried to process the information. 1944? Her stomach fluttered and she gripped one hand in the other.
Jacques took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Jamie glanced at his face. Jacques looked as though he were forcing himself to speak. “Erik doesn’t work for the museum; he works for the CIA.”
Jamie’s eyes bugged out. “What? He lied to me? I can’t believe this. Any of it!”
“Jamie, let me explain…”
Jamie folded her arms defensively across her chest. “There’s nothing to explain. I thought he was different, but apparently, he’s just like every other guy out there—a liar.”
Jacques pointed an accusing finger at her. “Damn it, Jamie,” he snapped, “don’t assume what you don’t know! One …” Jacques held up one finger. “He did it to protect you.” He held up a second finger. “Two: I don’t know if you know this, but he has a lot of enemies.” He held up a third finger. “Those enemies, if they knew what he really did, would kill him.” He held up the fourth finger. “I also know he loves you very much, and he doesn’t want to see you get hurt.”
Jamie pursed her lips, but Jacques made his point well. “Enemies?”
Jacques nodded.
“Like who?”
“President Putin of Russia and King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia, just to name a few.”
Jamie’s jaw dropped. Powerful enemies!
Jacques pulled into the Kennedy Warren parking garage. “And I’m sure there are others in this great world of ours.” He parked the car and stared at her. “He even has enemies within Washington and in the intelligence community.”
“Why? Why does he have so many enemies?”
Jacques shrugged. “You’ll need to ask him. If he’s willing to share with you, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t. Don’t forget who his employer is, though. That should explain a lot.”
Jamie sighed. “How long have you known Erik?”
A grin lightened Jacques’ face. “High school.” He slipped on his aviators. “He was a weird character then and still is, but I love him like a brother because of it. He’s my best friend and I’m going to miss him.”
“So is he all alone in 1944?”
“I’m afraid so, but from what I was told, he’s used to that because of what he did with the agency when he joined.”
“What did he do?”
Jacques shook his head.
“Tell me.”
“I can’t. I wasn’t supposed to tell you any of this.” He handed Jamie a small sheet of paper. “When you see him, give him this.”
“I’m going to see him?” Jamie’s voice raised.
“Don’t you want to?”
“Of course, but … 1944?” Her mind reeled. Not only had Erik traveled back in time, it seemed as if she were going, too. She pinched herself, just to make sure. It hurts. “How do I get there?”
“Safely, if I can manage it.” Jacques got out of the car and scanned the surroundings, looking for anything out of place, while Jamie got out and rollerbladed to the elevator.
Jacques walked by her car and suddenly sprinted to the door, closing it behind him. He joined her in the elevator and cursed beneath his breath. “I can’t believe they’d do that,” he muttered.
“Do what? What’s the matter?” she asked.
He exhaled forcefully. “Is there another way out of here?”
“A back door into the lane. Why?”
“That’s the way, we’re leaving.”
“Why?”
He turned to look at her. “There’s a bomb in your car.”
Jamie’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God.” The terrible reality of the nature of Erik’s employment struck her like a slap, and her heart rate soared.
The elevator stopped. Jamie glided to the apartment door and unlocked it.
“Let me go first,” Jacques said and motioned her to stand back.
Jamie stepped inside, sat on the chair by the door and yanked off her roller blades while he did a quick search of the apartment. After Jacques checked all the rooms, he came back and locked the door. She stared at him with wide eyes, aware that her life suddenly resembled a spy movie.
He crouched on one knee before her and looked directly into her eyes. “Listen to me very carefully, Jamie. Do not leave the apartment or even open the door for anyone, and I mean anyone.”
She nodded, biting her lip.
“As I said before,” he added, “pack a few personal things, and I’ll be back soon.” He stood and gave her a smile that she figured was supposed to look reassuring. It failed. “Do you have prior engagements?”
Jamie glanced at her watch. “I’m meeting Sarah, a friend from work, for dinner in forty minutes.”
He shook his head. “Don’t even call, text her, or reply to any of her messages. Understood?”
Jamie nodded. “What are you going to do?”
“Shift my car into the alley and make a telephone call.”
“What about the bomb?”
“I figure it’s set to go off after you start your car. I need to get you away from here as soon as possible.”
Jamie nodded. “Will Erik be okay?”
“Yeah, he’ll be just fine. I only hope he doesn’t piss anyone off.”
“Does he really do that?”
Jacques snorted. “Let me put it this way—you either like him or you hate his guts. There’s no gray when it comes to Erik.”
Jamie shook her head. “This is a lot to take in.” She wrung her hands on her lap.
“Sure. I can do that.” Jamie said.
“See you soon.” Jacques left, closing the door with Jamie locking the door behind him.
Jamie glanced around the living room and wondered how Erik could be so good at hiding who he worked for. At least now she knew why he never talked about his work.
She raced into the bedroom and opened the closet and looked for a suitable overnight bag—not the one with wheels; for sure they didn’t have them back then. She found an old leather suitcase that Erik had picked up from a trash and treasure sale and threw in some basic necessities and enough underwear for a couple of days. She also slipped out of her jeans and into a retro dress that Erik liked. She thought it was from the 1940s, and the tweed jacket with the nipped-in waist that she shrugged on over the top completed the style. A pair of classic black flats finished the outfit, and she switched her wallet and the things in her purse to an old leather one her grandmother owned. She left her credit cards and anything else they wouldn’t have had in 1944 and hoped that Jacques had sorted out details like money. Then she clicked the suitcase closed and looked at the clock. It told her that she had packed in ten minutes.
“You go, girl,” she murmured and resisted the temptation to start thinking about what she had packed. She had better things to do than second guess the contents of the suitcase.
She strolled to Erik’s office and took a closer look at the photographs on the wall. She had never paid them any attention before. Her eyes widened with surprise, and her face glazed in disbelief. How did she not notice these before? There were pictures of Erik inside the National Museum of American History, standing by the evilest men of the world—King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia, Gurbanguly Berdymuhammedov of Turkmenistan, and Vladimir Putin. Other photos displayed him with leaders such as President Horst Köhler of Germany and Prime Minister Gordon Brown of England. She walked around the office like a kid in a candy store and sat behind his desk and wondered how Erik was able to get so close to those people and what he could’ve been doing in those countries.
Jamie’s feet felt something odd beneath the desk. She glanced down and noticed that a square had been cut in the carpet. She squatted down and lifted the patch of carpet and revealed a hidden safe buried in the floor. She glanced around, trying to figure out where Erik would hide the key. She looked up, down, over things and even under things, but found nothing.
With a sigh, she sat again and searched his desk for hiding spots. The framed photograph of her caught her attention but dismantling it revealed nothing. Jamie drummed her fingers on the desk and absently ran her finger over the computer tower. Without meaning to, she pushed the CD eject button, and the CD tray slid out. A crafty grin came over her face at the sight of the key that rested on the tray. She snatched it up, got down on her hands and knees and tried it in the safe. It fit, and with a turn of her wrist, the door opened. She reached in and pulled out Erik’s Heckler & Koch MK 23, two spare magazines, and finally his CIA ID.
“Wow. It really is true.” She placed the articles from the safe on Erik’s desk, then walked to the closet door and tried to open it. No luck; it was locked. She turned around, pulled the pistol out of the holster, and smashed the doorknob with the grip. Slowly the lock in the doorknob released, and the door crept open.
“Double wow!” Jamie exclaimed, as she stared in disbelief at the military uniforms that filled the closet. She flicked through them and realized that they were from different countries—Russia, Germany, and even one from the US Navy. Frames poked out from the shelf above the uniforms, and one-by-one Jamie pulled them out.
“Triple wow!” She shook her head in amazement at the medals they contained. The first was a HOSTILE ACTION SERVICE MEDAL; next was an INTELLIGENCE COMMENDATION MEDAL, and finally a DISTINGUISHED INTELLIGENCE MEDAL. Each had the signature of the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency and the President of the United States.
Jamie went to the computer, signed in and googled CIA MEDALS. She found the information and read:
HOSTILE ACTION SERVICE MEDAL: For direct exposure to a specific life-threatening incident in the foreign field, or in the U.S., where the employee was in close proximity to death or injury, but survived and sustained no injuries. The incident must have occurred during work-related activities or events, which were targeted by armed forces or persons unfriendly to the U.S. Government8.
INTELLIGENCE COMMENDATION MEDAL: For the performance of especially commendable service or for an act or achievement significantly above normal duties which resulted in an important contribution to the mission of the Agency9.
DISTINGUISHED INTELLIGENCE MEDAL: For performance of outstanding services or for achievement of a distinctly exceptional nature in a duty or responsibility, the results of which constitute a major contribution to the mission of the Agency10.
Tears filled Jamie’s eyes. She loved him so much that her heart ached, and she couldn’t wait to see him, even if she had to go back to 1944 to do it. Erik’s fedora sat on his chest of drawers; she plonked it on her head and discovered that Erik’s cell phone was sitting underneath it. Unable to stem her curiosity, Jamie powered it up and tried to guess the code to access his numbers. She tried his birthday—failed. Her birthday—failed. Their anniversary—failed. She racked her brain, trying to come up with a four-digit combination. His lucky number—failed. Then she smiled, remembered, and pressed one-four-three-seven. She was in.
Erik had missed several text messages in different languages and several calls. Jamie scrolled down his stored numbers. She gasped and her eyes widened. They’re like something out of a movie. DIA, 703-695-0071, DMA, 703-545-6700, NSA, 240-295-2270, NATIONAL SECURITY COUNCIL 202-395-3000, and other numbers. A knock made her jump. She dashed to the door, looked through the peephole, and saw Jacques.
Jamie opened the door. “I’m nearly ready.”
Jacques saw Erik’s cell phone and held out a hand. “I’ll take that.”
She dropped it into his hand.
“You look the part,” he said. “We have a uniform for you, but what you’re wearing can go in your suitcase if it’ll fit.”
“It will.”
Jacques smiled as if he were proud of her; then he glanced at his watch. “Damn! That took longer than I expected. Come on, it’s time to go.”
Jamie raced back into the bedroom, grabbed her suitcase and shoulder bag and returned to the door. Her heart was already pounding as they hurried down the stairs. She led him out the back and found his car parked in the alley. They hopped in, and Jacques drove off.
At the end of the lane, they heard the thump of an explosion coming from the forecourt of the apartment building.
Jamie gulped. “Was that … my car?”
“I’d say so.” Jacques turned quickly onto the main road and navigated through traffic toward the Pentagon while Jamie took deep breaths and concentrated on stopping her hands from shaking. She tried not to think too much about the bomb meant for her or about what was to come. She trusted that Jacques had it all worked out. She just wanted to help Erik, and she would do whatever it took.
The burr of Jacques’ cell phone broke the silence of the room. He answered it, then hung up.
“Who was that?” Jamie asked.
Jacques glanced at her. “A friend.”
“Did you know he was awarded three medals?” She asked.
Jacques rolled his eyes and mumbled some incoherent words to himself. “Did you enjoy going through his things?”
“I was curious.”
He gave her a measured look, then shook his head.
“Do you know what he did to get them?” Jamie asked.
“No Jamie, I don’t. He didn’t share with me.”
“I thought he would since you’re his best friend.”
“Jamie, I’m sure you’re familiar with the word ‘classified.�
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Eventually, they passed through the security gate at the Pentagon and Jacques parked the car. Then they proceeded to the main entrance of the Pentagon and waited.
“I don’t understand why we’re here,” Jamie said, and she searched his face.
“All in due time.”
Jamie grimaced and perched on the edge of a concrete planter box at the foot of the steps below the impressive portico. She looked into the clouded sky and wondered what Erik was seeing when he looked up in France in 1944. A shaft of sunlight breached through at that moment, and she smiled and took it as a sign that they would be together soon.
Jacques paced back and forth. He glanced at his watch and peered down Pentagon Access Road. A few minutes later a car with its high beams on quickly approached. Jamie saw Jacques place his hand on his gun. Her muscles tensed, ready to run. He squinted to read the front license plate—G18 1971S—then relaxed. Jamie breathed again; it must be a friend. The midnight black Town Car came to a halt under the canopy. The rear right passenger door flew open and a man in a military uniform stepped out. “We don’t have much time.”
Jacques nodded.
The man extended his hand to Jamie. “Hello, Jamie. I’m Admiral Bonesteiner, Erik’s boss.”
“How long has he worked for you?” she asked. “And what does he do for the CIA?”
Bonesteiner’s eyebrows raised at her bluntness. “Ten years, but that’s not important now. What’s important is that you type up these files with the old typewriter in your office.” Bonesteiner handed her two dossiers.
She glanced inside one of them and discovered blank files from 1942 and two black and white photographs, one a passport photo of a gentleman and one of Erik.
“That man’s mission is to stop Erik,” Bonesteiner said. “Your mission is to stop him from completing that mission. Make him look like a spy and you’ll have a good chance.”
Jamie nodded and swallowed. Her hands went clammy, and her stomach felt queasy, but she was determined to do whatever she had to. Getting overwhelmed wouldn’t help anyone—least of all her. “There’s no typewriter down there, only computers.”
“Trust me, Jamie, you’ll find it, and you need to work fast.” He handed her a book—the 2008 Edition of World War Two for Morons. “Give this to Erik as soon as you see him. I can’t stress how important this is.”