by Richard Todd
“Good morning, may I help you?” asked the attendant, a tall thin man in his twenties with short blond hair, wearing a brown suit.
“Good morning, my name is Kyle Mason, I’m in room 1612 and I’m afraid I’ve misplaced my key,” Kyle replied.
Kyle showed him his government ID, picked up the key and headed upstairs in the elevator. He arrived at the room and took a deep breath.
“Here we go,” he said, taking a deep breath and exhaling.
Kyle 2008 entered the room.
“What’d you forget hon?” shouted a voice from the bathroom.
Kyle 2008 stepped into the bathroom doorway. Kyle 2001 was bent over the sink, wrapped in a towel, splashing water on his face. He grabbed a towel to dry off, and then saw Kyle ’08 in the mirror.
“FUCK!” yelled Kyle ’01.
He wheeled around to face his mirror image.
“What the fuck are you?” Kyle ’01 yelled.
“Major Mason, I realize this is going to be very tough to take in, but I you need to listen carefully to me,” said Kyle ’08. “My name is Colonel Kyle Mason. I’m you. I’m from our future—2008 to be precise. I’m here because thousands of people will die tomorrow unless you help me accomplish my mission. Padma is one of the people in danger.”
Kyle ’01 raised his hands to his face in disbelief. Moments earlier, his life was perfect—perfect. Now he was in a nightmare. He had completely lost his mind. Had he lost consciousness? Had he experienced a stroke? This seemed real—an identical copy of himself was standing in his hotel room, talking to him.
“I get that this is crazy,” Kyle ’08 said. Kyle ’01 was stunned silent.
“As I said, we don’t have much time,” said Kyle ’08, looking at his watch. “Padma will return from her smoke break in 18 minutes.”
“How do you know that?” Kyle ’01 asked.
“Because I’m you,” Kyle ’08 replied, “I was here, with her, on our honeymoon. We were married yesterday at City Hall. I spent everything I had to buy her ring and this room. I know everything that you know, plus a lot that you don’t.”
Kyle ’08 rolled up his right sleeve. On his inside forearm was his Sanskrit tattoo of “Padma.” The tattoo was not as crisp and black as the fresh one Kyle ’01 wore on his arm, but the symbols carved into his arm were unquestionably the same.
Kyle ’01 stared at the tattoo. Other than Kyle, Padma and the artist that inscribed it the day before, no one else knew about it.
“I cannot believe this,” said Kyle ’01. “I cannot believe this. I’ve lost my mind!”
“Kyle, listen to me,” said Kyle ’08, “You just ordered wheat toast, fruit, and coffee for Padma. You want breakfast to be here when she returns from her smoke break. She told you she wanted Starbucks instead of room service coffee. You told her she preferred American Spirits. Yes, there are two choices: you are either completely insane, or what I am telling you is true.”
“Look, I will debrief you, but not here. When Padma returns, tell her you’ve been recalled—matter of national security. She’ll be disappointed, but many lives depend on it. You’ll understand why soon. I’ll tell you everything.”
“Last thing,” Kyle ’08 said as he turned toward the door, “under no circumstances can Padma go to work tomorrow. You can’t tell her why. You need to hear her swear to you that she will stay home tomorrow. Her life may depend on it.”
“What’s going to happen?” asked Kyle ’01.
“If you and I are successful, absolutely nothing,” replied Kyle ’08.
Corner of Thompson Street and Grand Street
New York, NY
September 10, 2001
10:00 hours
Kyle ’08 sat in the Ford Escort in front of Café Noir. He watched the other Kyle approach the car and get in the passenger side. He was wearing jeans and a black long sleeve V-neck shirt. He was carrying a bag with his things.
“OK. I’m here,” said Kyle ’01.
“How did Padma take the news?” Kyle ’08 asked.
“She was very disappointed. So am I. Start talking, Sir,” Kyle ’01 said, mockingly to his senior ranked self.
Kyle ’08 began, “Tomorrow at 08:46 hours, the first of three hijacked commercial aircraft will hit their targets in New York City and Washington, DC. A fourth plane will not reach its target in DC because its hijackers crashed the plane in a field in Pennsylvania during an attempt by the passengers to retake the aircraft. The two NYC targets are the Twin Towers. The burning jet fuel compromises the towers’ infrastructure. They collapse. Both towers are total losses. 2,606 people die in the World Trade Center, including Padma.”
“The DC plane hits the Pentagon. 125 people will be killed,” Kyle continued, “The hijackers were Muslim extremist members of al Qaeda. The attack was ordered by Osama Bin Laden.”
“The attack has a profound ripple effect, ultimately resulting in the loss of tens of thousands of lives in Middle Eastern wars and trillions of dollars from the American economy. The effect on the country is devastating and it accelerates the decline of the United States as the preeminent world superpower.”
“I was involved in one of those wars. My Delta unit was deployed in the Tora Bora region in Afghanistan after the 9/11 attacks. Our mission was to kill or capture Osama Bin Laden. We could have gotten him, but CENTCOM refused to deploy Rangers to guard the mountain trails to the south. Bin Laden ultimately walked out of Tora Bora into Pakistan. After that, the trail went cold.”
“Do you remember General Craig?” Kyle ’08 asked.
“Of course,” Kyle ’01 answered, “He gave me my Silver Star.
“Right,” Kyle ’08 continued, “General Craig approached me several months ago. I was a total burn out. I never recovered from Padma’s death. If you can imagine today what it might be like to lose Padma tomorrow…”
“I can’t,” said Kyle ’01.
Kyle ’08 nodded. “General Craig recruited me for a mission—to stop 9/11. ’9/11’ is what Americans call it. He took me to Area 51. They have an underground complex there—something you wouldn’t believe.”
“I still don’t believe in you,” said Kyle ’01.
“Right,” said Kyle ’08, “Remember the stories about Roswell?”
“Sure,” said Kyle ’01, “The aliens. Are you telling me they’re for real?”
“Yes, though, as it turns out they’re not from another planet. They’re from this one. They’re from the future. Their spacecraft isn’t a spacecraft at all. It’s a time machine.”
“You’re fucking kidding me,” said Kyle ’01.
“Does it look like I’m kidding? Seriously?” said Kyle ’08. “Please explain me.”
“I trained with a partner for months. We were supposed to arrive several weeks ago, but something went wrong. We arrived at 07:00 today,” said Kyle ’08.
“Where is your partner?” asked Kyle ’01.
“In the trunk,” replied Kyle ’08.
“Why is your partner in the trunk?” asked Kyle ’01.
“Because she’s dead,” answered Kyle ’08.
“OK, so let me get this straight, you’re me from the year 2008. You came back in time using a time machine from the Roswell aliens…”
“They’re not aliens…” Kyle ’08 interrupted.
“What-the-fuck-ever they are…you came back in time to stop a major terrorist attack, and you’ve got a dead body in the trunk of your Ford Escort.”
“Got a live one back there too,” said Kyle ’08.
Kyle ’01 turned to look at Kyle ’08.
“His name’s Steve,” said Kyle ’08. “Wrong place. Wrong time. My partner and I were supposed to arrive in an isolated area. Instead, we landed in a hotel room in Weehawken—Steve’s room. I showed up alive. My partner was DOA. That pretty much brings us up to now.”
“You say you’re from 2008,” Kyle ’01 said.
“That’s right,” Kyle ’08 said.
“But you look just like me,” Kyle �
��01 said, “Damn, I age well!”
Kyle ’08 rolled his eyes, “So I’ve had some work done, ok? We weren’t supposed to meet, but I needed to be able to pass as you just in case I came in contact with anyone we know.”
Kyle ’01 sat silent.
“OK. I’m convinced,” said Kyle ’01.
“Seriously? That was easy,” said Kyle ’08.
“There are only two possibilities,” said Kyle ’01. “Either I’m talking to myself, which means I’m crazy, or I’m talking to my future self who time traveled to Steve’s hotel room in Weehawken and has his dead partner’s body in the trunk of his Ford Escort, which means the story is too crazy to make up. Given two sucky choices, I’m gonna go with the one where I’m not crazy.”
“So what’s the plan Colonel?” asked Kyle ’01.
“One of us goes north to kill bad guys. The other goes south,” replied Kyle ’08.
“Why the hits? Why not just alert the FBI?” asked Kyle ’01.
“We worked that option thoroughly,” answered Kyle ’08, “The bottom line is that we concluded that there was a low probability of success. There were multiple attempts to warn both the FBI and the president that the attack was coming. They were all dismissed. The FBI’s Minneapolis office tried repeatedly to warn Washington that a co-conspirator named Zacarias Moussaoui was going to hijack a plane. One of the Minneapolis agents actually warned HQ that Moussaoui might fly a plane into the World Trade Center. The Minneapolis agents’ efforts to get a search warrant for Moussaoui’s laptop and belongings were all refused. Had they obtained the warrant in time, they may have been able to prevent the attack.”
Kyle ’08 continued, “Warnings came from other sources. Richard Clarke, a special advisor on the National Security Council repeatedly tried to warn the White House that an al Qaeda attack was imminent. His position of National Coordinator for Counterterrorism was downgraded by National Security Advisor Condoleezza Rice, which meant that his memos would no longer go to the president without first being vetted up a chain in the NSA. All of his memos were bounced back by Rice and her deputy. The CIA repeatedly tried to warn the president in a series of briefings. In May, he was told that an al Qaeda group was in the US, planning a terrorist operation. In late June, the CIA warned the president that an attack was imminent, and that it would cause major casualties. The White House ignored the warnings. The top guys at the CIA’s Counterterrorism Center were so frustrated that one suggested that the staff request transfers so they wouldn’t be held responsible when the attack happened.”
“So, if warnings from the FBI, the CIA, and the NSC special advisor were all ignored, we agreed that an anonymous call from a pay phone would have next to zero effect,” concluded Kyle ’08.
“You’re painting a dismal picture of our government,” said Kyle ’01.
Kyle ’08’s younger self reminded him of how optimistic he was on September 10, 2001. He was on the very top of the world, a newly minted Delta commando married to the hottest woman on the planet. Kyle ’08’s rosy world imploded less than 24 hours later, though there was a chance that Kyle ’01’s world could still be saved.
“Those are the facts,” said Kyle ’08. “The attacks could have been prevented. I wish they had been. I’m here to do the job that our nation’s leaders couldn’t do.”
“Last detail,” said Kyle ’08. “We need weapons.”
“Don’t you have weapons from the future?” asked Kyle ’01.
“It’s 2008. We don’t have ray guns. We have iPhones,” replied Kyle ’08.
“What-phones?”
The two Kyles sketched out a plan. Killing the hijackers as they slept the night of September 10 offered the greatest odds of success, particularly as Kyle ’01 did not know what the hijackers looked like. Kyle ’08 knew the hotels and room numbers where each of the terrorists would be sleeping that night. 19 hijackers would be scattered across seven hotels in four cities—Boston, Massachusetts; South Portland, Maine; Newark, New Jersey; and Herndon, Virginia. The Kyles agreed that they would split up. Kyle ’01 would go north and take out the Boston and South Portland targets, while ’08 would take Newark and Herndon. From his training, Kyle ’08 recalled a shadow dealer in Wilton, Connecticut, where they could obtain weapons. Along the way to Wilton, ’08 would rent a car that ’01 would drive to Massachusetts and Maine. While in Connecticut, they would also find a spot to dispose of Annika’s body. After taking care of Annika, the two assassins would part ways to pursue their respective targets.
Kyle ’08 wrote down the names of ’01’s targets, as well as names, addresses, and phone numbers of the hotels where the hijackers would be staying that night. ’08 also gave ’01 Mohamed Atta’s cell phone number. While ’08 could not imagine a scenario in which ’01 might need Atta’s phone number, he thought it best for ’01 to be fully prepared in case he needed to improvise.
The last item ’08 provided ’01 was information to leave at the assassination scenes in the form of a “calling card”—bits of key information that would tie the various terrorists into the greater conspiracy and Osama Bin Laden. The one downside of leaving the card is that information about their existence would invariably leak out through the investigating local authorities. It would be crack cocaine for conspiracy theorists, smoking gun proof of government involvement.
They will be right about government involvement, thought Kyle ’08, only wrong about which government.
Kyle ’08 gave Kyle ’01 Annika’s debit card and universal hotel key card. Though ’01 would not be able to use the debit card for over-the-counter purchases, he could still get cash from ATMs.
The Kyles stopped first in Stamford, Connecticut, where Kyle ’08 rented a car for ’01. They then stopped at a sporting goods store, where they bought an anchor to weigh down the duffle, backpacks for their weapons and gear, Leatherman knives, ski masks, gloves, lithium grease for their gun suppressors, and a few odds and ends.
The next stop was the shadow gun dealer in Wilton, where they bought handguns with threaded barrels and suppressors using Kyle ’08’s fake ID. Kyle’s ID kit included a permit to carry handguns in Connecticut, registered under his alias name, Robert Small. Kyle bought two Glock 17 handguns with threaded barrels, suppressors, four extra magazines, and 500 hundred rounds of 9mm Luger ammo. The 9mm rounds were small compared with the .45 caliber ammo both Kyles were accustomed to, though they would be slightly less noisy when fired through the suppressors. Stealth was prioritized over firepower.
In their separate cars, the two Kyles drove north to New Milford, stopping on a narrow bridge over the Housatonic River in Lover’s Leap Park. Kyle ’08 popped the trunk on his Escort while ’01 kept a lookout for cars. Kyle ’08 pulled the anchor out of the back seat. In the trunk, Steve still lay, bound in duct tape, cuddling the duffle containing Annika’s remains.
“You OK?” Kyle ’08 asked Steve.
Steve nodded.
Lush Silver Maple trees lined the river gorge below. A few hundred feet to the south was a lovely red wrought-iron pedestrian bridge named for the lovers’ leap.
According to legend, Pootatuck Indian Princess Lillinonah nursed a young Englishman back to health sometime early in the eighteenth century. The two became lovers against tradition and her father’s wishes. After her father attempted to sabotage their marriage plans, Lillinonah and her English lover died in each other’s embrace when they plunged over the river falls. Legend has it that when the lovers’ bodies were recovered from the rocks below the falls, they were still in each other’s arms. Against tribal tradition, Lillinoah’s father, Chief Waramaug ordered that the lovers be buried together. When the old Chief passed in 1735, he was buried alongside the couple.
Kyle ’08 thought about Lillinoah and how she had restored her lover to health.
Kyle ’08 quickly tied off the anchor to the duffle and pulled it from the trunk, carrying it to the edge of the bridge. He paused for a moment, looking at the beautiful dark water and the lush Maple trees.
“Goodbye Annika. I love you. Thank you for bringing me back,” Kyle ’08 said.
Kyle ’08 then picked up the duffle and dropped it off the side of the bridge. It fell some 40 feet, making a huge splash in the deep water below. He watched the duffle disappear into the dark water.
She deserved better than this, he thought.
Kyle ’08 walked to Kyle ’01 and extended his hand, “This is where we part ways,” said Kyle ’08, “I don’t think I’ll see you again. Thank you for what you’re doing.”
Kyle ’01 took Kyle ’08’s hand in a tight clasp, “Good hunting Colonel,” he said.
“Good hunting Major,” replied Kyle ’08 with a smile.
The two Kyles got into their cars and drove away.