Time Frame (Split Second Book 2)

by Douglas E. Richards

  This was the mother lode. Colonel Li would be ecstatic.

  The mission was officially over. At least the capture part.

  The interrogation part, however, had only just begun.

  The major noted the extensive coating of dried blood on the floor of the trailer and the large swath of blood spatter on the stainless steel appliance. “What happened in here?” he asked.

  Blake shrugged. “Are you talking about the red?” he said innocently. “I think it’s a bold design choice on Sub-Zero’s part. Stainless steel can be a bit sterile.”

  Li turned to the two men now inside the trailer and gestured toward the refrigerator. “Open it!” he commanded in Chinese.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Blake, shaking his head as though he were dealing with an idiot. When Long didn’t immediately belay his order, Blake’s tone became more urgent, and more demanding. “They can’t open that!” he shouted, sounding panicked. “Tell them!”

  Long wasn’t used to taking orders from prisoners, but in this case he made an exception, as Li’s warning about the destructive potential of dark energy came to the fore of his consciousness. He countermanded his order, and the soldiers who had been approaching the stainless steel appliance stopped in their tracks.

  Blake blew out a sigh of relief.

  Long turned back to his prisoner. “So you speak Chinese?” he said.

  “Not a word,” said Blake. “What you ordered was obvious.”

  “So why shouldn’t I open your steel box?” asked the major.

  “Because it’s been booby trapped,” replied Blake. He brought the fingers of both hands together and then, to the extent allowed by the zip ties, abruptly spread them apart. “Boom,” he whispered.

  The major studied his prisoner for several long seconds, taking his measure. “I swept the area with sensors,” he said. “No trace of any explosives.”

  “Because the one I used doesn’t have a signature,” insisted Blake. “Trust me when I tell you that if you open that refrigerator, we’ll have to finish this conversation in the afterlife.”

  Long studied his prisoner. “Okay,” he said after a long pause. “We can keep it closed. For now. But you need to tell me what it is. And what’s inside of it.”

  Blake smiled. “Of course. It’s a refrigerator. And inside: a dozen eggs and some skim milk.”

  “Keep trying to be funny and see how long you live.”

  “Tough audience,” said the prisoner. “Here’s the deal, if you arrange for us to speak privately, I think our conversation can be more . . . interesting.”

  Long considered. Being alone with this man might not be good for his health, even though he appeared harmless and was bound, but the possible reward was well worth the minimal risk. And the prisoner knew that escape was impossible.

  A few minutes later both he and Blake were inside the trailer. The major remained standing, a gun in his hand, while the prisoner sat with his back against a side wall of the vehicle, avoiding a slick of blood nearby. The door was closed, leaving them alone with each other and a refrigerator. Twenty-four armed soldiers waited just outside the compartment’s only exit, eliminating any chance of escape.

  “Okay, Blake, it’s just the two of us now. So tell me what’s in that refrigerator. Who you are. And what you’re doing in China.”

  “I’ll tell you everything you want to know. But I have three conditions.”

  “Conditions!” barked Long. “You forget that you’re the prisoner, and I have the gun. Believe me, you’ll tell me everything you know, willingly or not.”

  “Even if this is true, why not do this the easy way? I’ve conducted interrogations before. It’s a dream to have a cooperative prisoner, rather than one you have to coerce. You get better quality information that way. Unless you get off on coercion.”

  “Get off?” said Long questioningly.

  “Sorry. It means, unless you enjoy torture.”

  “I don’t. But I also won’t agree to any conditions.”

  “Really?” said Blake innocently. “You haven’t even heard them yet.”

  Long studied him for several seconds. “Okay,” he said finally. “Tell me.”

  “One, I see that you haven’t contacted your commander yet. Does he know you found your man?”

  Long shook his head. “Not yet. I was about to inform him.”

  “Don’t,” said Blake simply. “Wait until we’re through here. Who knows, you might learn something that will change your mind about the situation. You can always tell him in an hour or two.”

  “And your second condition?”

  “Tell me why you’ve been so eager to find me. What is it you know? Or think you do? Why would you possibly think my cargo is anything other than what it appears to be?”

  “Go on,” said Long.

  “The last condition is that you order your men to get the hell out of here. The explosive I mentioned is unstable. It could remain inert for a thousand years, or it could blow any second.”

  The major couldn’t help but be insulted by this request. If this man thought he was really stupid enough to fall for something this patently ridiculous, he was about to learn otherwise. “If it blows,” he said, “then you will die, also. Yet you didn’t ask me to remove you from its presence. You expect me to believe that you want to protect my men, but not yourself? That you’re only looking out for their welfare?”

  “You think I’m asking for this so I can overpower you and escape?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d have no chance. Even with your men gone. I know it’s hard to believe, but I really want them to clear out so I don’t risk innocent lives. I’ve done enough of that. I have no beef with any of you.”

  “No beef?”

  “It means that you and your men are not my enemies,” said Blake. “Even though it might look that way to you. I don’t want anyone hurt. These men have parents and siblings who love them. Many have wives and children who depend on them.”

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish by pretending to be concerned for my men,” said Long. “But they will remain where they are. They know the risks of military service.”

  Blake glared at him in contempt. “You’ve got me where you want me,” he said in desperation, extending his bound hands to underscore the point. “Why risk lives that don’t need to be risked?” he pleaded.

  Long shook his head. “I’ll agree to your first two conditions,” he said, “but not your last. Your choice. You can decide this is good enough and cooperate. Or we can do this another way.”

  Blake was seething, but after a few seconds he nodded his agreement. “Okay,” he said, visibly trying to depressurize. “We have an agreement. Tell me why you’ve been so desperate to find me, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

  The major eyed the prisoner skeptically, but decided to go forward. “We have an initiative to study dark energy,” he began, certain Blake would know what this was. “A few months ago, one of our scientists developed a dark energy detector.”

  Blake’s eyes lit up like a sun. “So you do know my device taps into dark energy,” he said excitedly. “But you don’t know anything else about it. Which explains the lengths you’ve taken to find me. I don’t blame you. My intel sources were sure China hadn’t developed a detector, and I know there haven’t been any leaks on my end, so I couldn’t see how you would know. But it was the only way to explain your . . . heightened . . . interest.”

  Long was pleasantly surprised. The prisoner had said he would willingly tell the truth, but the major hadn’t really believed him. Until now. Until the man hadn’t bothered to deny that his device tapped the dark energy field. He seemed more delighted than upset at Long’s revelation, as though it had cleared up a mystery but was of no further import. Almost as if he was relieved.

  “So you admit your steel box has a connection to dark energy?” said the major.

  “Absolutely,” said Blake. He narrowed his eyes
in confusion. “Wait a minute. If you have a detector, how is it that it took you so long to find me?”

  The major considered if he should continue to answer Blake’s questions. Why not? His prisoner wasn’t going anywhere, and he seemed to be cooperating. Long didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize this.

  “The sensor array was very near the Beijing airport,” explained the major. “It only has a range of about ten kilometers or so, but it detected dark energy when you landed.”

  “So once I flew out of range, your detector became useless.”

  “Not quite. We’ve managed to outfit a few helicopters with smaller versions to aid in our search. One is about eighty miles north of here right now, in fact, and slowly working its way south. In another three or four hours, it would have found you, even if we hadn’t.”

  Blake’s eyes widened excitedly and the wheels in his head appeared to be spinning. “Thank you, Major Long. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “Now it’s your turn,” said the Chinese major. “What is that device? And what are you doing in China?”

  “I’m really sorry,” said Blake. “About everything.” The prisoner sounded absolutely sincere, even anguished. “But I have to go back on my word. Not even my own president knows what I’m doing here, so I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

  Long’s features hardened. He would make Blake pay for betraying his own agreement.

  “I feel sick about this,” continued the prisoner. “But I did try to spare your men. Their deaths are partly on you.”

  Their deaths? What was that supposed to mean?

  And then, right on cue, all hell broke loose outside.

  44

  A second Aaron Blake stood quietly inside the nested kettles, clutching an assault rifle. He had been there for hours, bored out of his mind until his duplicate had joined him in the trailer with a Chinese major in tow.

  After this, he had all the entertainment he could want. Video and audio streamed to his contact lens and comm from a tiny camera embedded on the outside of the fake Sub-Zero, and he had watched the scene unfold with all the intensity of a Peeping Tom.

  The other Blake had been pushed against one wall of the trailer, where he had slid to the floor. His wrists and ankles were bound with zip-ties and the major hovered over him, a gun in his hand. “Okay, Blake,” said his captor, “it’s just the two of us now. So tell me what’s in that refrigerator. Who you are. And what you’re doing in China.”

  “I’ll tell you everything you want to know. But I have three conditions.”

  “Conditions!” said the major. “You forget that you’re the prisoner, and I have the gun. Believe me, you’ll tell me everything you know, willingly or not.”

  The Blake in the kettle observed the unfolding discussion and couldn’t help but admire his duplicate’s performance. His other self was masterful, manipulating his captor with all the skill of a virtuoso.

  Earlier that day, Blake had been forced to make a hard choice. He needed to know what he was up against, no matter what the personal cost. You couldn’t win a game if you didn’t know its rules. Besides, the Chinese forces would close in soon enough. So he would make sure they did so on his terms. He would allow himself to be ambushed and interrogated, getting the info he needed in return.

  Just before sundown, he had made a single copy of himself. He had stayed inside the truck while his duplicate ventured out to use himself as bait, purposely allowing himself to be seen. The Blake left behind had rigged a number of flash-bang grenades to detonate on his duplicate’s command when he returned. Their use would ensure the Chinese wouldn’t suspect he had wanted to be captured. He had felt certain the men after him would be competent enough to withstand some pesky stun grenades, and this confidence had been borne out.

  Now, those who had captured him were in for the surprise of their lives. They couldn’t possibly guess there were now two of him, with one tucked away inside a weapon of mass duplication, able to provide as many reinforcements as needed.

  So Blake had waited for his double under the truck to be captured. He had pre-programmed the inner kettle, K-2, to send him fifty-eight feet away. The time travel would commence on his mark, and would abort after K-2 detected the number of copies he would specify just before issuing this command.

  And now the act had almost played itself out, with the captured Blake playing his part to perfection. They could have taken out the major and his team at any time, but they needed to accomplish a few things before they did.

  First, the captured Blake needed to learn if the major had informed his superiors that he might have found him, or had decided to wait until he confirmed he had the right man. If Blake was lucky enough that the latter was true, he needed to freeze the major from doing so until it was too late.

  Second, he needed to learn what the Chinese military knew. Why they had put so much manpower into finding him. Finally, he hoped to spare as many of the soldiers as possible from what was to come.

  His double had managed to accomplish two of these goals, but the third was not to be. Not that this was the prisoner’s fault. No task was trickier than convincing a major to send his force away, no matter what the argument, especially when the argument came from the most wanted operative in all of China.

  The Blake waiting inside the kettle felt a profound sadness when it became clear the major wouldn’t budge on this issue, and he could see the Blake in the trailer was having his own trouble choking down this reality.

  The Blake in the kettle also knew his twin was feeling a profound anger. An anger directed at himself.

  Fighting terrorists had been so simple, although he hadn’t appreciated this at the time. Decisions were simple. Clear cut. The terrorists dedicated their lives to killing anyone and everyone who didn’t subscribe to their radical views. The need to kill them was unambiguous. Kill or be killed.

  But much of the killing Blake was now doing was anything but clear cut.

  He was being forced to weigh lives against each other like they were so much dirt. To make ethical decisions so complex they made calculus look like addition. And to kill innocents he would rather do anything but kill, including himself, who was now destined to die over and over and over again.

  Blake prepared his automatic rifle for action and spread his legs slightly apart, crouching in a ready position. The other Blake had done all he could, gotten all the information he could.

  The time to act had come at last, as Blake listened to his duplicate apologize to the major for the coming deaths of his men.

  “K-2,” he whispered. “I want ten copies.” He took a deep breath and made sure his grip on the weapon was firm. “Mark!”

  45

  One moment Blake was crouching inside a kettle and the next he was standing on dirt, surrounded by clusters of trees and fellow Aaron Blakes. As far as the ten Blakes were concerned, all had arrived where they were simultaneously, as the local universe reset each time a new copy arrived and moved forward from there.

  Up until an instant earlier they were one man, so each knew precisely what to do without need of communication or coordination. When the Blake still in the kettle sent a “go” command through their comms, they would move in. The other Blake in the trailer, the one who had been escorted there by Major Long, was the only version without a comm or contact lens, since he had removed and hidden these items in preparation for being captured.

  The go command came seconds after the ten duplicates arrived in the past. Blake had planned out the attack in his head, which meant it was in all of their heads. The two closest to the truck rushed in toward the concentration of Chinese soldiers, showing themselves and opening fire, their weapons set on semi-automatic, allowing them to get off shots in rapid succession but preventing them from spitting out more than a single round per trigger pull.

  Had they set their weapons to fully automatic, they could have made bloody Swiss cheese of all twenty-four soldiers, congregated as they were, pumping hundreds of round
s through their bodies before they could even raise their weapons, before they even realized they were under siege. But this uncontrolled spray of fire would risk further damage to the truck, which was already hanging on by a thread.

  The soldiers were caught napping, certain that no force could outflank them, which in a sane universe was true. Even with weapons on semi-automatic, it was a massacre. The two Blakes found nothing but easy targets, shooting one helpless man and then the next, only needing a slight adjustment of their aim in between. It was a first-person video game come to life, and the two Blakes were in a fierce battle to determine who would set the high score.

  Eleven Chinese soldiers fell in the initial flurry of death before any of the others managed to regroup and return fire. When the return fire did come, it was fully automatic, and both Blakes were torn to shreds, blood splattering into the crisp night air from every square foot of their bodies.

  As soon as the first two Blakes were down, and the attention of all remaining soldiers was focused in one direction, two more Blakes emerged from behind them. These two picked off eight more Chinese soldiers before they, too, were taken out.

  The next pair of Blakes finished the job, although not before the last soldier standing managed to spray them with automatic fire just before he fell, killing them both. Even so, all twenty-four Chinese had now been cut down, while four Blakes remained, untouched. The shooting on the Blakes’ part had been so precise that the flood lamps still bathed the woods in light, and the truck remained unscathed.

  The Blakes still alive wasted no time pumping additional holes in the Chinese corpses sprawled across the forest floor, making certain that every last one was well and truly dead.

  Finally, the last bullet spent, a deafening hush came over the woods. No bats, crickets, or even breeze-swept leaves dared to make a single sound, as if stunned into silence by the carnage they had witnessed.

  It was the ultimate bloodbath. The woods had become a charnel house, with thirty men dead, most horribly disfigured, and many lying across each other like cordwood, a scene gorier than anything out of a big-budget Hollywood slaughter-fest. Blood slickened the forest floor and painted nearby leaves and branches alike.