“We’re writing a feature article for The New York Times Magazine about the families of the victims of the Thanksgiving Attacks. I know this must still be painful for you, but we’d like to ask you some questions if that’s okay.”
“I didn’t think there were any more questions left to ask, but please come in.”
She led us down a short hallway and into a spacious den. She offered us coffee and we all said yes. Never refuse coffee. It opens a small but important relationship with the person you’re interviewing.
While she went into the kitchen I took in the details of the den. It was a beautiful room, tastefully decorated with leather furniture. There were arrangements of freshly cut flowers. The shelves along the wall were neatly stacked with books arranged by author name. I noticed that there were no pictures of Joseph Monahan, no Navy mementos, and no display of the military decorations that each victim received. Based on the den only, you would never know she had been married. Was she just trying to forget her late husband? People handle grief in different ways.
She returned from the kitchen carrying a tray and asked us to sit around the coffee table. The table was surrounded by architectural stools which fitted perfectly to the table.
“Please call me Janice. I’ve been interviewed so many times by Naval Intelligence, the FBI, and not to mention dozens of you news folks. Why the renewed interest after two years?”
“Our article will be about the human toll that the attacks have taken on the families of the victims,” Wally lied. “It was the most devastating attack ever on American ships, and we’re looking to show our readers the aftermath in human terms.”
“Did Commander Monahan show any signs of concern before the ship set sail that day?” I asked.
“No.” said Janice. “The Lincoln was on a short deployment of a few days, so we didn’t have our regular bout of ‘when will I see you again?’”
“So nothing seemed to be bothering him?” I said.
“Well, now that I think back, one thing struck me as odd. In the months before the attacks he seemed obsessed with getting an air conditioner for the ship’s magazine, the place where they store weapons and ammunition. He was concerned about humidity. Like him, I’m an engineer, and I specialize in heating and air conditioning systems. He constantly talked about it, asking me all sorts of questions about this and that air conditioning system. He even asked me to do research on the ideal a/c system for the weapons magazine. He insisted that the machine be of certain dimensions, which made sense. As the ship’s weapons officer, he knew his space inside and out. So I came up with what I considered to be the best air conditioner for the job. It was a real bruiser, a Tomlinson Model 2000. The thing is heavy and measures four feet high by three feet wide and three feet deep. He made constant phone calls to arrange for it to be delivered by a certain date.”
“When was the date?” I asked, not sure where I was going with the question.
“I remember it was early November, three weeks before the attacks. In retrospect, Joe’s air conditioning concerns were wasted. But I’m sure you don’t want to write about air conditioners in your article.”
“Reporters ask a lot of stupid questions, Janice, but we never know if they’re stupid until we do the research and write the article,” Wally said.
“Was Commander Monahan a religious man?” I asked.
“Not particularly, but he did have a lot of curiosity about different religions. He was fascinated by Islam, and read a few books on the subject. When I asked him about it he just said he found the stuff interesting.”
“Did he ever express any thought that he may want to convert?” Bennie asked.
“Convert? No, he never went further than his reading. We were church-going Episcopalians, and I still am. He just kept insisting that he found Islam fascinating. Hey, I find HVAC systems fascinating so who am I to ask questions?” We all laughed.
“Anything else you’d like to tell us, Janice?” I asked.
“Well, this is weird, it just popped into my head. Getting back to the air conditioner. Joe asked me if I could order five units through my consulting firm. ‘Are you looking to dehumidify the magazine or turn it into a meat locker?’ I remember asking him. He told me he wasn’t the only weapons officer concerned about humidity. I asked him if I could bill the Navy for what was looking like a big job. He insisted that each ship would do the ordering individually. I don’t know if this helps your human interest story, but it just occurred to me.”
We spoke for some time about Joseph Monahan and her life with him. She didn’t have any other recollections so we sensed the interview was coming to a close.
“Janice, we thank you for your time,” I said. “We may have some follow-up questions down the road. I’ll let you know when the article will be coming out.”
Chapter 11
We piled into Wally’s car and started debriefing before he turned on the ignition.
“So, Dr. Bennie, what do you think of our ‘witness’?” I asked. “Was she telling us the truth?”
“Guys, if that woman gave me the name of a horse, I’d bet on it. She inhabits a bullshit-free zone. She's also a hottie, in my professional opinion.”
“So, let’s see what we have. A guy who finds Islam fascinating and is obsessed with air conditioners,” I said.
“That’s five air conditioners, Jack,” Wally said. “One for each of the ships that got nuked? Am I being too speculative to think that the air conditioners could have something to do with the bombs? Janice Monahan is an expert air conditioning engineer, and she thought his obsession was strange. I wonder why she didn’t connect the dots when she was interviewed by Naval Intelligence and the FBI? What do you think, Bennie?”
“The more time between a trauma and the present,” Bennie said, “the more the mind starts to speculate without interference from the heart. My guess is that when she went through all those interviews, the last thing she thought about was air conditioners or her husband’s interest in Islam. Her brain was still on fire with her sudden loss.”
“How do we know she didn’t discuss this stuff with the investigators?” I asked. “The interview notes are Top Secret, I’m sure. Maybe the Feds are on to something. It’s starting to come clear to me that we should contact the FBI and let them in on what we know.”
“You mean divulge a source, Jack?” Wally asked.
“Wally, this isn’t journalism as we know it. This is life and death, specifically mine.”
Chapter 12
After my morning run and workout I sat at my desk in Bennie’s office with my head pounding. Our interview with Janice Monahan yesterday opened up a whole new line of inquiry. It almost seems like we may know what happened, at least with one officer on the Lincoln. I was in the zone, my question zone, the space in my head where I go when I’m looking for answers.
The phone rang, scaring the hell out of me and snapping me back to the present.
“Jack Thur... er...Harper,” I answered.
“Jack, this is Janice Monahan. I need to see you.”
“Sure, Janice. Wally, Ben, and I can be there this afternoon.”
“No, just you. I’ll explain when you get here.”
***
Janice answered the door, wearing a low cut clingy blouse and a miniskirt, and taking my mind on an unintended trip in a wrong direction. She asked me to have a seat.
“Was there something you forgot to tell us?” I asked.
“You’re not Jack Harper, you’re Jack Thurber and you’re supposed to be dead.” She reached into a folder and withdrew a full head and shoulders picture of me from Time Magazine. It was an article about the Naval Board of Inquiry after the Gray Ship incident.
“I also read, as has everyone else in the world, that you married Captain Ashley Patterson after you left the Navy. Every one of the thousands of newspaper stories after the Thanksgiving Attacks mentioned that you were a civilian guest on the Abraham Lincoln when it was bombed. You and Captain Patterson were
killed along with everyone else. But you’re sitting here in front of me. Very few men in this world have eyes as beautiful as yours, pardon me for saying, and that’s how I recognized you. After that strange California incident you were constantly on TV and in magazines. This isn’t somebody else, is it Jack Thurber? Well is it?”
“I can explain.” Well, I can try to explain.
I gave Janice a short summary of my time travel experiences, as if she hadn’t read about them already. I told her that for some unknown reason, I seem to find myself travelling through time. I reviewed my experience in the Civil War and the Gray Ship incident aboard the California, a story that most people find unbelievable. As a cop would say, my cover was blown, so I figured I’d invite Janice into the weird world of Jack Thurber the time traveler.
“Yes, Janice, that’s me, Jack Thurber. I’ve come here from the past. I was killed on the Abraham Lincoln, from everything I’ve read or been told, but I’m alive now because you’re looking at me, a guy from 2015. So I guess that clears things up, yes?”
“It’s possible that you never made the trip on the Lincoln, and you’ve just been hiding out these last couple of years. That’s possible, even if you deny it. I need to hold that thought in my head so that my brain doesn’t explode. Does that work for you, bright eyes?”
“Okay,” I said, “I understand that you think time travel isn’t believable. But let me ask you to hold it as a theoretical possibility. Does that work?”
“Look, handsome (I wish to hell she’d stop flirting with me), then explain what this magazine article baloney is all about.” She said this as she crossed her legs, her long beautiful legs.
“Here’s the simple (simple?) truth, Janice. My objective is to gather evidence and then return to 2015 to save my life as well as my wife and thousands of others killed in the Thanksgiving Attacks. Wally Burton really is a reporter for The New York Times. Ben Weinberg is a NYPD cop and a psychiatrist who specializes in detecting lies from witnesses. Bennie said that every word out of your mouth was the truth, or at least you believed it to be the truth.”
“Well, Jack, I’m glad Bennie gave me a passing grade. By the way, I know all about him and Wally Burton, as well as you. Engineers know how to use Google too, you know. So, good looking, (stop that crap — please) how do I fit into all of this?”
“I was hoping that you may have some ideas on that, Janice. When we interviewed you the other day you gave us some huge leads, especially about the air conditioners and your husband’s obsession with them, not to mention his interest in Islam. Something tells me that you have some more information to share with me.”
She rubbed her pretty face with her hands and uncrossed those lovely legs.
“Frankly, Hon, I do.” (Hon? What’s with this “Hon”?)
“Everything I told you about Joe was true. When I was interviewed nonstop after the attacks, I didn’t go into much detail because my mind was in a different place then. What I didn’t tell you the other day were my thoughts on Joe’s behavior, but I will now. I’m starting to feel very comfortable with you, Jack,” she said as she smiled and leaned over toward me. (Holy shit. Should I mention that I’m happily married to a woman from the past?).
“Go ahead, Janice. Do you mind if I take notes? It’s a reporter thing?”
“Sure, you can even take pictures.” With that she swung her arms outward and faked a back stretch, encouraging her beautiful cleavage skyward. Memo to file: I want Bennie and Wally with me on our next interview.
“Just notes will be fine,” I said as I looked down on my notebook and splashed a drop of perspiration on my first sentence.
She then kicked off her shoes, stretched her long legs out and put her bare feet on an ottoman.
Think baseball. Yes, that’s it, think baseball. Do NOT think creamy white thighs and beautiful tits. Yesterday’s game came back to me. It’s two outs, full count. McCann is on second and Teixeira’s at bat. Swing and a miss and the sides retire at the bottom of the fourth with the Yankees leaving one man on base. The score is two to one, Boston.
“You were telling me about your husband’s interest in religion,” I said.
“Yes, I told you about Joe’s fascination with Islam. Well, to quote Jerry Seinfeld, not that there’s anything wrong with that. But it started to go beyond a fascination. Obviously I know that you guys are looking to see if there’s a connection between the Thanksgiving Attacks and radical Islam. I guess that’s a no-brainer.”
“Did he do or say anything to make you think he was becoming radicalized?” I asked.
“A few things. I walked into his study once and he was practicing Arabic with an online language course. I flat out asked him why he was studying Arabic and he said it would enhance his naval career to be fluent in another language. Sounded logical enough so I didn’t pursue it. Then he began to use Arabic words and phrases all the time. I only felt uncomfortable when I
overhead him speaking halting Arabic with someone on the phone. But I let it go, thinking that you need to use a language to learn it.”
“Getting back to my question about any signs of radical thoughts or behavior, can you tell me anything about that?” I asked.
“Yes. One time I saw him watching an online video of that radical American guy who I think is also Yemeni. What’s his name? Oh, Anwar Al Awlaki. Hateful stuff. Without any prompting from me, Joe turned and said something like, ‘Can you believe this guy? He’s one nasty dude.’ I got the clear impression that he was trying to throw me off with his negative comment on Awlaki. Sort of like surprising somebody watching porn who then tells you he was just looking for some exercises. I found him watching these videos a number of times, mostly in English, then more and more in Arabic.
“Did his relationship with you start to change at all?”
“Big time. He began to question the way I dressed, especially if I was going out. I’m an exercise nut and I keep my body in pretty good shape in case you haven’t noticed.”
Oh my God. Yes, I had noticed. Time for another sip of cold water.
“One time as I was leaving to play tennis with a friend, he wanted to know why I had to wear such a short outfit. He went on and on about how much more attractive were the photos from the 1920s when women wore long skirts. He started to get upset whenever I ventured out in anything like what I’m wearing now.” Some more drops of sweat plunged to my notebook.
“So, Janice, it sounds to me like you were having some doubts about Joe.”
“Doubts don’t quite sum it up, Jack. I was feeling like we were drifting apart, like he wasn’t the man I married. Do you mind if I talk about sex, Jack?”
Holy shit. Where’s Ben and Wally when I need them?
“Please go ahead. Do you mind if I have some more cold water?”
“The more he delved into Islam, the more he wanted to control my behavior. He tried to convince me to wear clothing that made me look like a nun. Our sex life started to take a negative turn. To be honest with you Jack, and I’ve never told this to anybody, I started to find him repulsive. Even out conversations became stilted. It's like I was living with a man I once knew, but knew less and less every day.”
"Anything else you can think of, Janice?"
"I'm sure I'll think of more incidents. I'll jot down my thoughts to share with you."
I suggested to Janice that I would like to review my notes with Ben and Wally and schedule another appointment as soon as possible. I stood to leave and she stood also.
“Wow, you’ve got a pretty nice build for a Pulitzer Prize winner, if I don’t say.”
Get me out of here — Now.
“Oh Jack, one last thing.”
“Sure, what is it?”
“Joe may be alive.”
Chapter 13
I met with Ben and Wally in a diner around the corner from Ben’s office. We had agreed that phone calls should be kept to a minimum so we would always meet in person. We found a booth in a corner where we could have a private
conversation, sparing the other patrons our time travel discussion. I brought them up to speed on my unscheduled interview with Janice Monahan and the new information that she shared. I filled them in on the details about Joe Monahan’s descent into what may be radical Islam, and then I hit them with the thunderbolt. Janice thinks her husband may be alive. I recommended that we need to have another meeting.
Wally suggested that since she opened up so much to me that maybe I should do the follow up alone. “No,” I almost shouted. Those legs, those tits, NO. I convinced them that we need as many eyes, ears, and brains as we can muster. And a lot of cold water.
***
We all agreed that we’d invite Janice to meet with us in Ben’s office. It has a huge conference table and, of course, a psychiatrist’s couch in case we need to go subconscious diving. Janice showed up at the exact time scheduled, dressed demurely in a business suit, the skirt of which wasn’t too short, just short enough. I insisted we have two pitchers of ice water on the table and that the air conditioning be turned down.
“Janice, I’ve briefed Ben and Wally about our meeting yesterday,” I said. “They may have some questions, but for right now I’d like to fast forward to the last thing you told me. You said that Joseph Monahan may be alive. Please explain.”
“At about 8 AM on the day of the Thanksgiving Attacks,” Janice said, “I got a call from Rich Carter, the Executive Officer of the Lincoln. He said that Joe was feeling sick and the medical officer thought he may be getting the flu. Because the ship wasn’t leaving on a combat deployment, just a short cruise, the XO and Captain Patterson decided to send Joe home rather than risk him spreading the flu around the ship. So they had a car take him to the nearest hospital. I expected his call at any minute. An hour went by, then two. I called the hospital, but there was no record of a Joseph Monahan being admitted, or even seen in the emergency room. I assumed that the captain just changed her mind. I tried to call the ship, but it had already cast off and was at sea. An hour later the Lincoln exploded.”
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