Prologue

by Greg Ahlgren

  “You need energy pills,” Natasha said. She popped a capsule in her mouth, and gave Rostov thirty seconds to rest. “Let’s go.”

  Rostov shook his head. “You go first.” She did, he followed, and they continued up.

  “My briefcase! I left it in the hallway,” Amanda said.

  Lewis slapped his head. “All right, be quick about it.”

  Amanda poked her head out of the lab. She spied her briefcase over by the elevators where they’d been talking. She hurried over, grabbed it and whirled her head as she heard a door open. It wasn’t the lab door, she knew, that was already open. From behind her she heard Pamela say, “Oh, this is such a weird night, who are you?”

  A Russian-accented man said, “Move.” When Amanda heard feet running in her direction it broke the spell and she dashed for the lab door, colliding with Natasha five feet from the entrance.

  Amanda didn’t fall down, but Natasha did. Natasha sprang to her feet and said, “Dr. Hutch. Going somewhere?”

  Natasha reached out and grabbed Amanda’s bare arm. Amanda swung her briefcase hard and felt it connect against the wall behind Natasha as she lunged for the lab door.

  Amanda made it in and slammed the door shut. “Natasha…and…someone else,” she panted as she ran across the room. Both men stared at her, horrified expressions on their faces. “Come on guys, what are you waiting for?”

  Paul just pointed. Amanda turned and looked to see a trail of paper wafting in her wake, then at the open briefcase in her hand. “Oh…my God…it sprung,” she whispered. She tossed the empty briefcase aside and dashed back to the door, bent over, and scooped a fistful of loose papers into her purse.

  A boot thudded against the door. She heard Natasha yell, “The pass card, stupid, wave the card!”

  She grabbed as much paper as she could and ran back into the lab, clutching Paul’s arm.

  “Come on, Lewis,” she urged.

  “I’m going as fast as I can,” he said, punching numbers on a keyboard connected to the mainframe at the side of the room. “It’s not that easy to find another one.”

  The door beeped. Paul realized it was about to open. “Lewis, get us gone,” he said.

  “I’ve got one wormhole going to 1967… 1966…”

  “We need early ‘62,” Amanda pleaded.

  “This isn’t September first, remember? That wormhole isn’t open,” Paul said quietly. “Lewis…”

  “I’se be tryin’ massa…1965…1964…damn these slow computers.”

  The door flew open, and Paul and Amanda turned to see a man holding a snub nosed revolver in his right hand. His left arm was encircled around the throat of Pamela Rhodes.

  “Move away from that terminal,” he commanded in a thick Russian accent.

  “Who are you?” deVere demanded.

  “I order you to get your hands away from that computer right now or I will shoot,” he said, training the revolver on Lewis Ginter.

  “Nineteen sixty-three…September…getting warm…almost there,” Ginter said.

  “Now, Lewis,” Paul said quietly. “Just hit enter. Open the damn hole.”

  “But–”

  “Doesn’t matter any more. Gotta’ go now.”

  “All I’ve got is a 55 to one ratio,” Ginter protested.

  “Do it,” deVere said quietly. He stepped toward the man, drawing his attention.

  “Let the girl go,” he said quietly. “She’s not involved in this.”

  The Russian shifted his grip to Pamela’s head and angled the gun directly against her temple. Paul stopped in his tracks.

  “You must be Dr. deVere and you”-the man gestured at the computer from which Lewis had just pushed back his chair-“must be Lewis Ginter.”

  “And who the hell are you?” deVere growled, moving to his right away from Lewis Ginter.

  The man trained the revolver on deVere’s chest. “Do not continue, Professor.” He swung the revolver back at Ginter. “On your feet!” he commanded.

  From out in the hallway deVere heard a sudden shrieking blare. He cast a stunned look back at Ginter.

  “The fire alarm?” he asked dumbly.

  Ginter rose to his feet with his hands in the air.

  “What is it you want?” he asked the Russian.

  The sequentially circuited alarm triggered throughout the building and the lab’s overhead horn sounded a shrill piercing blast.

  “You set the building on fire?” deVere asked.

  “Don’t be stupid,” the man responded, but deVere detected uncertainty in his voice. The man waved the gun to his left, motioning Ginter to move toward deVere.

  Ginter held his ground, his arms still in the air. “If there’s a fire we better get out of here now. The elevators are disabled, as you no doubt noticed. Walking down 20 flights is going to take some time. Fire can spread quickly.”

  The Russian took a step back, pulling Pamela Rhodes with him. Her face showed only calm. Good girl, deVere thought.

  “Comrade!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Never mind the papers! Is there a fire?” He turned back to the pair. “You will come with me now. Down the stairs. We will get to the bottom of this.”

  Ginter moved to his left, arms still upraised. As he came abreast of the Russian deVere stepped forward from the gunman’s left. The Russian started at the unexpected movement. The split second was all that Ginter needed. Pamela twisted and Ginter’s right arm crashed down on the Russian’s gun hand knocking it down and forward. The gun went off as deVere dove to the right and Pamela pushed at the gunman’s arm. A second arm chop by Ginter sent the revolver sliding across the floor. Before it had stopped Pamela had spun and hit the Russian straight on in the face with the flat palm of her hand. The Russian dropped and lay still. In a flash Amanda crossed the room to the entryway and slammed the lab door shut. She jammed a chair underneath the doorknob.

  “That should hold her out. I don’t think she had a weapon,” Amanda said breathlessly.

  DeVere moved over to the prostrate Russian. “We need something to tie him up with. Is there any rope?”

  “There’s no time,” Ginter shouted. He cast a quick look at the figure sprawled across the linoleum floor and stepped back to his computer terminal. “All I could find was a window open for six minutes. It has a 55 to one ratio so it’s very unstable.”

  “Is there a fire?” Amanda asked from the rear of the room.

  Ginter punched a few more keys. “I have no idea.”

  “Did you set off the alarm from your computer?” deVere asked.

  Ginter looked up, dumbfounded. “From my computer? No, of course not. I can’t affect the fire alarms from my computer.”

  “Then there’s a fire,” Amanda panted. “We’ve got to go.”

  “Not quite yet,” deVere argued, looking at the lab door. “Lewis, what do you have?”

  “She’s right,” Ginter answered. “We’ll never find another wormhole in time.” He pointed at the barricaded lab door. “There’s going to be firemen and District cops all over this building in a matter of minutes. We’ve got to go.”

  “How much time do we have?” deVere pressed.

  Ginter checked the computer screen. “Wormhole is open another one minute and 28 seconds. We’ve got to go now.”

  DeVere hesitated and then stepped back to the gray metal filing cabinets at the rear of the room. Squatting slightly he wrapped both arms around one and began walking it away from the wall.

  “Watch out,” Ginter barked. As deVere stood back Lewis Ginter threw himself at the empty cabinets and toppled them both over, exposing the jagged tear in the wall.

  “Let’s go,” he said and stepped through the hole. DeVere stepped back to his desk and grabbed the duffle bag he had brought with him. He took Amanda’s hand and escorted her over the jagged sheet rock. He turned back to Pamela who, after a moment’s hesitation, stepped forward wordlessly and through the hole. DeVere took one last look around the lab, listened for a moment to the still wailing a
larm, and followed her in.

  The Accelechron was humming. Atop the pedestal a chronometer was counting down the time left in the wormhole opening. It was down to 55 seconds. Lewis Ginter grabbed Pamela’s hand and pulled the dazed woman toward the vortex. “You’ve just got to trust us on this,” he said kindly. “It’s not safe to stay here.”

  Paul deVere grabbed Amanda’s hand and was about to follow when the history professor jerked away.

  “Wait,” she said, and nimbly stepped back through the hole and into the lab. In a panic Paul looked at the chronometer, which now read 44 seconds. However, in just a few seconds Amanda returned, her pocketbook in hand.

  “What the heck do you-?” he began, but her smile cut him off.

  ”If you can bring your duffle I can bring my purse. I had to,” she confided. She leaned and whispered in his ear.

  Speechless, Paul deVere watched as Lewis Ginter and Pamela Rhodes walked into the vortex. Taking a deep breath he muttered, “Women,” took Amanda’s hand, and together they followed them in. Paul deVere felt himself splash in the sky.

  Chapter 14

  “You bastard!”

  For a moment Paul deVere thought that he was paralyzed. His mind was fogged and his body was unresponsive to his brain’s commands. He opened his eyes and mistily saw Amanda lying next to him, her face pushed into dirt. Beyond her, Pamela Rhodes was kicking a prostrate Lewis Ginter. Paul could see long grass in front of his face and could smell its sweetness. He felt the sun’s warmth on his face. He thought he was in some sort of meadow.

  “You son of a bitch,” Pamela screamed as she kicked at Ginter again. “You and your fucking pervert friends slipped me some sort of date rape drug, that’s it, huh? Did you all have a good time with me? Asshole!”

  Pamela drew her right leg back again but Ginter was quicker. He caught her foot on the back swing and tumbled the woman to the ground.

  “Nobody drugged you, damnit!” Ginter growled as he sat up. Next to Paul, Amanda stirred and opened her eyes. Paul’s body felt heavy and his head was pounding. He pushed his hands into the soft earth and tried to push himself up.

  “Where are we?” Amanda asked, her eyelids flickering.

  Paul gave a final heave and sat up. “More importantly, when are we? Holy shit, Lewis, did it work? Lewis?”

  Lewis Ginter let go of Pamela’s leg and stood up. “The computer read August 5, 1963 when I pushed ‘enter.’ I had the wormhole targeted for a park in the northeast United States. Deerfield Park in Manchester, New Hampshire.”

  Paul rubbed his forehead and looked around. He was in a grassy clearing. To either side he could see a tree line about 100 feet away. Between the tree lines the clearing sloped downward. He was on a hill and in the distance he could make out the skyline of a small city. He looked behind him. About 30 feet away, two black 19th century cannons stood mounted on cement bases, their mouths pointed toward the city.

  Amanda groggily studied the cannons. “Lewis, you put us back to the Civil War.”

  Paul shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “I know this place. I’ve been here. It’s Derryfield Park. Not Deerfield. You’re right. In Manchester, New Hampshire.”

  “You know this place?” Amanda asked, turning back from the cannons.

  “I grew up one town over, in Bedford. I went to high school here, West High School. And,” he chuckled, “I know that parking lot.” Paul pointed to the bottom of the clearing. Approximately 300 feet away a gravel parking lot stood empty.

  “I used to come here with my girlfriend back in high school, in the late eighties. Nineteen eighty-nine I think. Yeah, that’s it.”

  Paul jumped to his feet. “It actually worked, Lewis. We moved through space and time.”

  Paul squinted at the low sun behind him. “It was evening when we left. We’ve definitely moved through time.” He turned to Lewis. “Do you know what time it is? I mean, in the day?”

  Ginter rubbed his eyes. “The computer said the wormhole at this end would be open for just over five hours and thirty minutes starting at 3:38 a.m. Since we left at the end of our opening it should be about 8:30 or maybe 9:00 in the morning.”

  Paul nodded. “Judging from the sun I’d agree. What was the date?”

  “August 5, 1963. Monday.”

  Paul bent down and grabbed a handful of grass. He pulled it up by its roots and pushed it to his face. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

  “We’re here. It’s physical,” Paul said. He looked back up at the sky and let out a whoop. “We did it!”

  He turned to Lewis. “Is it really 1963?”

  Amanda raised herself off the ground and sat up.

  “What happened to 1962?” she asked.

  “I think the real question,” Lewis answered, icily turning to her, “is why Natasha and her friend were there? You mentioned a trip wire in your computer. What was that all about?”

  “Someone hacked my computer,” Amanda answered. “Must have gotten details. You ought to be thanking me for installing the trip wire. It let me know they were on to us.”

  Ginter didn’t take his eyes off her. “What was anything doing on your hard drive? Didn’t we tell you not to enter ANY details?”

  “Paul said not my MIT office computer. This was my home computer.”

  “Goddamnit, your home computer is linked to the office through the university circuit and can be hacked,” Ginter exploded. “Are you THAT stupid?”

  “Me?” Amanda was fully awake now. “What about you? We’re supposed to have gone back to 1962. What the hell happened to that? You screwed us up. You put us into 1963. We’re now ten months too late to invade Cuba.”

  “Ah, excuse me, are you guys serious or what? This wasn’t one of those date rape drug things? ‘Cause that would sound better right about now.”

  The three turned to stare at Pamela who still sat on the grass. Paul had forgotten she was there.

  Lewis shook his head. “No, no drugs. Not like I ever had to use them.”

  “You three are shitting me, right?” Pamela asked. “You’re not trying to tell me we went back in time? Back to 19 fucking 63? Are you?”

  Pamela paused, her eyes desperately moving from Ginter to deVere. “What about the bombs? Are you saying that you were building a fucking time machine all the time and you were lying to me? To us? Is that what you’re saying? Are you serious?”

  When no one answered, Pamela jumped to her feet and staggered forward. “You’re crazy. You’re all fucking crazy. You drugged me and you’re all crazy. And who was that wacko with the gun to my head? Another escapee from the lunatic asylum? Part of Lewis’ scam plot?”

  Pamela wheeled on Lewis. She was lurching forwards and back. She raised a hand to her forehead and tried to steady herself.

  “Nice try, Lewis!” Pamela screamed. “Nice scam, asshole. Hire some bozo with a Russkie accent to scare the shit out of me with a toy gun, then drug me, bring me God knows where to some hill and tell me you have a time machine?”

  She laughed hysterically. “It ain’t gonna’ work, Lewis! I’m not that stupid. Eckleburg ain’t that stupid. Lorrie ain’t that stupid. You and your pervert friends aren’t getting another fucking dime for you and deVere and, and you!”–Pamela pointed at Amanda still on the ground–“to stuff in some Swiss bank account!”

  Pamela lurched forward and fell to her knees, still holding her head. Without standing up Amanda scrambled over and put her right arm around Pamela’s shoulders.

  “It’s O.K.,” Amanda cooed. “I’ve got you.”

  “Aw shit! This sucks!” Ginter said.

  “It’s O.K.,” Paul said. “Just give her a few minutes. This is a shock to all of us.”

  “Not her,” Lewis said. “That!”

  Ginter pointed down the hill to the parking lot. A black and white four-door sedan with a red bulb light on the roof had entered the parking lot and was slowly crossing to the far side. Even from this distance Paul could see the word “POLICE” on the right f
ront door. Ginter and deVere instinctively dropped back down.

  Lewis scrambled over to the two women and pulled them lower. “Get down!” he commanded.

  Paul lay back in the tall grass.