by Richard Todd
Place: unknown
Date: unknown
Time: unknown
Kyle witnessed a blinding flash of light, then complete darkness. He felt an intense electric shock through his entire body, as if every molecule had been electrocuted from within. His body wanted to cry out, but it was frozen—completely immobilized by the tunnel effect.
He could then feel something pressing on his hands in the darkness—something soft. He felt pressure on his knees. He realized that he was no longer standing but instead on his hands and knees resting on—carpet? The darkness began to fade. He was disoriented and struggled to regain his faculties. From his all-fours position, he began to take in his surroundings. Beneath his hands was a bland beige-colored carpeted floor. Directly in front of his head was a sheet of polished wood—the footboard of a bed. He looked to his right and saw a large window with a gauzy covering. Behind him was a wooden credenza with a large television resting on top. To his left was part of a wall with vertical white and gold stripes. This was not the “isolated area” the scientists had targeted. Something had gone terribly wrong.
He had to get to his feet. He reached up and grabbed the top of the footboard and pulled himself up. He gasped at what he saw.
Annika was sitting upright on the bed, her back against the headboard and her hands resting neatly at her sides. She was staring directly at him with her hazel eyes.
“Are you alright?” Kyle asked.
Annika did not respond. Her stare was fixed on him.
“Annika?”
Kyle moved around the bed to her side. Annika’s stare did not follow him.
“Oh no!” he cried.
He put his fingers on her neck to feel her pulse. There was none.
“No no no!” he cried as he pulled her off the bed onto the floor. He clutched her head, angled it back and breathed into her mouth—no response. He began pressing rhythmically on her chest to administer CPR. There was nothing but her cold stare.
“No!” he cried as he realized he had now lost two loves to 9/11.
Kyle hit Annika’s chest hard with his fist and began CPR again. Her body shuddered under the impact. At that moment he heard a familiar electronic chirp at the door. He was in a hotel room!
He leapt to the door, sliding behind it just as it opened. He saw a man’s arm reach in the doorway, clad in a crisp white business shirt cuff topped with a navy blazer. His hand was holding the card key to the room. He dropped the key when he saw Annika on the floor beside his bed.
“What the fuck?” the man gasped.
As the man turned to flee, Kyle grabbed his arm and yanked him into the room and onto the floor. The man fell and rolled against Annika. Kyle closed the door swiftly, but quietly, then grabbed the man by the throat as he was beginning to rise from the floor. Kyle slammed the man back onto the floor, pinning him by the throat. His captive was a white man, in his 30s, with short sandy hair and terrified blue eyes.
“Take all my money. Please don’t kill me,” uttered the man.
“I don’t want your money,” Kyle replied. “If you cooperate fully with me, I won’t hurt you. If you don’t cooperate, I will kill you. Do you understand?”
The man nodded, “I understand! I understand! I’ll do whatever you want.”
“I’m going to ask you some questions,” Kyle said. “The questions will seem strange to you. You will answer them truthfully. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” replied the man.
“Where are we?” asked Kyle.
Confusion blended with terror in the man’s eyes, “We’re at the Sheraton,” he replied.
“Which Sheraton—what city?” demanded Kyle.
“Weehawken.”
“Weehawken? Weehawken, New Jersey?” asked Kyle.
“Yes. Yes,” replied the man.
“What is your name?” asked Kyle.
“Steve...Steve Miller,” replied the man.
“Like the musician?” asked Kyle.
“Yeah. I get that a lot,” replied Steve, attempting a grimaced smile.
“Steve, I have weird question for you, but I need you to answer it truthfully for me. Will you do that?” Kyle asked.
“Yes. Yes. Anything,” replied Steve.
“Steve, what is today’s date?”
Steve began to sob as he realized that the man holding him by the neck was insane.
“Steve, what date is it today—don’t make me repeat the question again!” said Kyle firmly, closing his grip on Steve’s throat.
“September 10!” Steve replied, crying.
Steve saw Kyle’s face go white. Kyle released him.
“September 10—what year?” demanded Kyle.
“2001,” replied Steve, praying it was the right answer.
Kyle grabbed Steve’s wrist to look at his watch. It was 7AM. Kyle stood up, bringing his hands to his head in shocked disbelief. Those smug fucking techs! he thought, they got everything wrong. If he ever made it back to 2008, he swore he would toss John Kaomea into the tunnel—maybe send him to the year 3000 where, with his primitive millennium-old knowledge, he might make for an excellent zoo exhibit or child’s pet.
Kyle’s head swam, a pounding mass of overwhelming feelings and impossible problems. Annika was dead—Annika was dead! He had lost his partner and his lover. He was alone. Even with Annika’s help and a week’s lead-time, his task was already impossible. Now, in 24 hours, he had to single-handedly save America, while doing something about Annika and his unwelcome guest. Should he abort the mission?
Kyle walked to the windows of the corner room and pulled open the drapes. Across the Hudson River, the twin towers stood over Manhattan in the morning light. He couldn’t believe it—he was really here.
Kyle moved into the tight space between Annika and Steve, turned to Steve and said: “move.”
Steve scooted sideways away from Kyle, moving toward the door. As Kyle knelt beside Annika, Steve glanced at the hotel room door, only a scant 10-foot dash away.
“Don’t even think about it, Steve,” said Kyle, never taking his eyes off Annika.
Kyle stared into Annika’s hazel eyes, anguished, I can’t believe you’re gone, he thought, I can’t believe you’re not here. I need you to be here with me. I need to know what to do.
Annika’s return stare was clear and determined. He could almost hear her say, “Buck up, soldier! Get the fucking job done!”
As he had done in the Time Tunnel, only minutes before, he took her hand and closed his eyes. Her hand was still warm. When he opened his eyes, a few moments later, his face had changed. His pain was replaced by the steely look he had taken into battle years before—the same look he summoned after Annika smashed his nose in their sparring match. He could not grieve his lost love, or even fully acknowledge her death. He didn’t have time. As he had done the last time he was in the year 2001, he had to bury his pain and postpone it—for 24 hours.
He shoved his hand into Annika’s jeans pocket, retrieving the transponder, along with her ID’s, debit card, and universal key card. He glanced at the transponder, then shoved everything into his pocket.
Kyle then got up and walked to the room door, stepping over Steve’s legs along the way. He swung the door open and placed the “Do not disturb sign” on the doorknob, noting the room number. He then walked to the phone and dialed the front desk.
“Front desk,” the attendant said.
“Hello, this is Steve Miller in room 417, I think my assistant may have made a mistake when booking this room. Can you tell me when I’m scheduled to check out?” said Kyle.
“Just a minute Mr. Miller, I’m checking…you are scheduled to check out tomorrow, Tuesday.”
“OK, that’s a relief. Thank you for your help,” said Kyle.
Kyle hung up the phone and walked to Steve. Steve backed against the wall anxiously.
“Give me your wallet Steve,” said Kyle.
Steve fished out his wallet and handed it to Kyle. Kyle removed his dri
ver’s license and company card key.
Kyle then fished his own Delta ID out of his pocket and held it out for Steve to see. Kyle shielded his name on his ID with his index finger.
“OK Steve, here’s the deal, I’m an officer with Delta Force,” said Kyle.
“That’s for real? I thought Delta Force was only in the movies,” exclaimed Steve, his eyes wide.
“Officially, we do only exist in the movies, which means I’m not here and she’s not here,” replied Kyle. “Do you understand?”
“Yes. I understand,” replied Steve.
“I have no intention of hurting you, but we weren’t supposed to meet, so you’re going to need to disappear for about 12 hours until I do what I need to do. After that, you can tell everyone you were abducted, which, technically, will be true.”
Even though the abduction part didn’t sound good to Steve, the restored confidence in Kyle’s voice and manner, combined with his government ID, gave him hope that he might make it out of this alive.
Kyle continued, “I need to know why you’re here, where you’re from, where you’re supposed to be today, and who’s going to miss you when you don’t show up,” said Kyle. “And time is not on my side, so make it quick.”
Steve told Kyle that he was a salesperson for a database software company, in town for a sales conference being held at the hotel. About 100 people were attending the two-day event, which was scheduled to wrap up the afternoon of the following day, September 11. Much of the meeting was comprised of presentations to the entire group. He would not be missed from those, though there were a few smaller breakout sessions on September 11 where his absence would be noticed. Steve had just returned from an early one-on-one breakfast with his boss before the day’s conference got underway. Steve had a rental car, which was parked in the south lot behind the hotel.
Kyle called housekeeping to request a large duffle bag, the kind they used for laundry. It was an unusual request, though he managed to talk his way through his excuse with the housekeeping person on the other end of the phone. Kyle then called maintenance to request a roll of duct tape. Finally, he called the bell desk to request that a luggage trolley be brought to the room.
A housekeeper and maintenance man showed up at the front door with the items Kyle had requested. Kyle tipped them generously from Steve’s wallet.
“I’ll pay you back,” Kyle told Steve.
“Thanks,” replied Steve, “ though I’ll be happy to get out of this alive.”
“Me too,” Kyle thought.
The bell captain showed up with the trolley and offered to help with the luggage, citing hotel policies prohibiting luggage trolleys from being unaccompanied by bell people. Kyle charmed the trolley away from the persistent bellman, all the while thinking of the incomprehensible gap between their priorities—reconciling the bellman’s trolley separation anxiety with Kyle’s mission to save the country.
Kyle asked Steve to hold the duffel open while he picked up Annika and stood her in the bag. He then folded her knees and torso into a fetal position in the bag. He drew the drawstring tight and stuffed a towel into the opening to plug the gap. He stuffed the roll of duct tape into the top of the bag.
“Now we go,” said Kyle, “Here’s how this is going to work: we’re walking out of this hotel to your car. You’re going to stay next to me the entire way. If you shout or run, it will create a problem for me, but I’ll kill you before I start running. The odds are high that I’ll escape and you’ll be dead. If you cooperate fully, you’ll be back this evening, unharmed, in time for dinner. Are we clear?”
“Yes. Clear,” replied Steve.
Kyle lifted the duffel onto the cart. He tossed Steve’s roller luggage on the cart as well, along with a hanging suit bag. They exited the room and walked down the hallway to the elevator bank. An elderly man was waiting for an elevator when they arrived. When the elevator doors opened, the man invited Kyle and Steve to join him.
“It’s a tight squeeze, but I think we can make it,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Kyle said, smiling.
“Sure, c’mon in,” the man said.
Steve couldn’t believe how cool Kyle was as he struck up a conversation about the weather.
The door opened, and the man held it to allow Kyle and Steve exit with the trolley. As they exited the front door, another bellman intercepted them, insisting to help with their luggage. Again, Kyle managed to dismiss the bellman with thanks, promising to return his precious trolley.
Pushing the trolley through the parking lot, Kyle remarked dryly that best service he ever received from a bellman was when he was toting a dead body. Steve didn’t know whether or not to laugh.
They reached Steve’s rental car, a red 2001 Ford Escort. Kyle clicked the key remote to pop the trunk. He loaded Annika gently.
“Get in,” he ordered Steve, as he clicked open the car doors with a chirp.
They drove northwest. Kyle was looking for some privacy. After driving for 15 minutes, he pulled off the NJ-3 West onto a dirt service road that shadowed a muddy creek. He stopped the car.
“Get out,” Kyle ordered Steve.
To Steve, the scene looked like prime location for a mob hit.
“No! No! You said you weren’t going to kill me!” cried Steve. “Please don’t kill me!”
“I’m not going to kill you. I’m putting you in the trunk,” Kyle said.
“In the trunk, with the dead person? Are you fucking kidding me?”
Kyle turned to face Steve, “Steve, there are two choices on the menu: one dead body and one live body in the trunk, or two dead bodies in the trunk. Which do you prefer?”
“One,” he said, looking ill.
“Good choice,” said Kyle.
They got out of the car. Kyle popped the trunk and fished the duct tape out of the duffel.
“Hands behind your back,” Kyle said.
Steve complied. Kyle wrapped Steve’s wrists a dozen times and then taped Steve’s mouth. Kyle helped Steve into the trunk, where he was cuddled with Annika’s duffle. Kyle taped his ankles.
“Do I need to remind you to keep quiet?” Kyle asked.
“Good,” Kyle said, slamming the trunk shut before Steve could respond.
Kyle was back in the car, this time heading east to Manhattan.
Café Noir
New York, NY
September 10, 2001
09:15 hours
Kyle drove his car into downtown Manhattan, where the orderly matrix of right-angle streets and avenues of midtown devolve into confusion south of 14th Street.
He parked the car at the intersection of Thompson and Grand Streets in front of a bistro named Café Noir. He got out and walked to a bodega on West Broadway, where he bought coffee and a bagel. As he sipped his coffee, he kept watch on the building across the street.
“Any minute now,” he thought.
The coffee cup quivered in his hand. He was too nervous to eat. The anticipation of what was about to come next was almost unbearable. In all his years of combat experience, he had never been rattled like this before.
At 09:20, the door of the Soho Grand opened, and Padma strode out. Kyle gasped at the sight of her. He could not believe his eyes.
Padma reached into her bag and pulled out a carton of cigarettes, quickly lighting one up, as though she had been deprived oxygen. She gave a satisfied exhale and then started walking toward Grand Street with her long, confident strides.
Of all the strange things Kyle had experienced in his Time Tunnel odyssey, the experience of being a voyeur to a scene that had played out over seven years earlier was the most bizarre and unsettling. It was as though he was watching a movie rerun from a different camera angle. He knew the story, though he had never actually witnessed the part that happened outside his Soho Grand Hotel room.
Kyle watched Padma as she walked away. He had crossed seven years and 2,000 miles to be here, again, with her. Now the gap between them had been closed to within seconds and
a few hundred feet. It would be so easy to run after her and touch her again, after all these years.
A few hundred feet might as well be a few hundred years, he thought, bitterly. He wasn’t here to save Padma for himself. He was here to save Padma for a different Kyle, a Kyle he was beginning to resent terribly.
Kyle walked in the hotel and went to the front desk.