Fate (Wilton's Gold #3)

by Craig W. Turner

  “Interesting,” Jeff said, then turned his attention back to Abby.

  She continued, pointing the remote at the laptop and changing the screen. “How the system works is that we automatically analyze the relationships that come back flagged red, meaning potentially dangerous. Each of those are assessed separately, then are weighed against those that are flagged yellow, or caution. If there are any in the yellow category that support those in the red category, they’re combined.”

  “Three hundred fifty million of them?” Jeff said.

  Abby nodded. “Roughly. Out of those three hundred fifty million, there were approximately two million that came up yellow.”

  “Two million?!”

  She waved her hand. “Absolutely normal,” she said. “The algorithms address everything from a worst-case scenario perspective. There were twenty-three that were flagged red.”

  “I don’t think it does center on ‘worst-case scenario,’ exactly,” Jeff said, “but I’ll take your word for it for now. And two million plus twenty-three is not nine percent of three hundred fifty million,” Jeff said.

  “Again, it’s the algorithm. There are multiple levels of analysis. As I mentioned, if the red entries are supported by cautionary entries, the number will climb. Nine percent is a good score. You’d be approved to take this mission based on this.”

  “Can you talk about how you analyze the red items?”

  Dexter jumped in, continuing the conversation that Jeff had begun the day before now that he’d been over it with Bremner himself. “Those are analyzed manually, individually and in detail. The precision of the data in the system is incredible, so we can read exactly what the relationship or interaction is.” He wanted to control this part of the conversation. “Let’s take one of the red entries – I’ll admit, while you were in your session with Dr. Graham yesterday, I was looking at some of your numbers with Dr. Bremner. There, that’s the one we were looking at: 001/MAT/5C/7R/375M/A26. This was flagged because of code 001, the most basic – a familial relationship in the vicinity of the destination. Obviously, we can’t have a participant sneak the secret to the internet to their distant relative.” He tapped the display screen on the table in front of him and suddenly he had control of the presentation. “This one was flagged red simply because of the family code, but it’s really not all that close a relationship. Unless you’re a real genealogy freak.”

  “What do the numbers mean?”

  Dexter picked up the stylus next to his station and touched the screen. On the HD screen on the wall, everything Dexter touched was highlighted. He went along the list of figures. “Maternal side, fifth cousin, seven times removed, whose home in 1849 was 375 miles from your proposed destination. Age 26 at the time of your mission.”

  “That’s pretty incredible,” Jeff said.

  “It is,” he said, agreeing and motioning to Abby, the keeper of the algorithms.

  “If it wasn’t the scariest thing I’d ever encountered, I’d say congratulations,” Jeff said.

  “Jeff, the process is meant to protect us,” Dexter said, finding himself defending the system and then realizing how ridiculous that was; two years ago, Jeff hadn’t been such a skeptic. “It’s being used for good.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it is,” he said. “But you can see how easily it could be turned around?”

  He nodded. “I do. Which is why we’ve hired people of good moral character to run it.”

  Jeff laughed scornfully. “If you say so.”

  Dexter sighed. His beef was not with the system – it was the hole in the system that had been discovered. Plus, he didn’t like having his hands tied. But there was too much on the table to get into a debate with Jeff about the merits of the program. Not right now.

  Instead, Jeff ended that part of the conversation, turning to Abby. “So what happens next? You go through the twenty-three red entries? Then what?”

  She took control of the presentation back and the image on the screen faded into the next slide. The twenty-three red entries appeared with numbers next to them. “Here are the flagged data points,” she said. “The numbers beside each entry are the number of supporting pieces of data attributed to each. For the first, for example, there are 18 entries that could – and I mean could – suggest a danger. Eighteen isn’t that many. In fact, the only one on the list here that we would even look into is the one, two, three, four, fifth entry down – the one that starts with ‘317.’ That one sent back 374 possible scenarios. Which is still low, but we’d probably look into it to make sure.”

  Jeff shrugged. “Why don’t we go through the exercise, just to see?”

  Abby nodded obediently, but Dexter jumped in, recognizing the code from his walkthrough with Bremner the day before. “Jeff, it’s not going to come up with anything. Let’s not waste the time. It’s a lengthy research process, and Bremner wants to keep this moving.”

  “It’s no big deal at all,” Abby said, but Dexter glared across the table at his friend.

  Jeff appeared to get the hint and waved her off. “Nah,” he said. “Let’s not worry about it. Is that it? Then you know if I’m good to go?”

  “That’s about it,” Abby said.

  “Let me ask you this,” he said. “I know you said this hasn’t happened, but speculate for me. Let’s say someone’s score comes up with a failing grade, and then they don’t pass they psych exam.”

  “Well, you don’t really ‘pass’-” Dexter said.

  Jeff held up his hands. “I know, I know. But let’s say someone is deemed ineligible for the mission they’ve selected. What’s the process for letting them know? These are powerful, big-time players coming into the program. You’re not going to just shoot them an e-mail telling them they’ve been denied. How would it hypothetically work, if it were to happen?”

  Dexter looked to Abby, who was looking to him to answer. “Well, if that were to happen,” he said, looking for an answer, “the message would probably be delivered by a high-level person in the program. Perhaps Bremner himself. The follow-up would really depend on the results of all of the tests.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  “Afraid of?”

  “Yeah – listen to your answer. ‘Probably?’ ‘Perhaps?’ There is no protocol, is there? Because there’s no intention of blocking anyone from the program. Am I right?”

  “Honestly, Jeff,” he said. “That decision would be made over my head.” What was he doing?

  “I’m not blaming you. I’m just trying to assess the situation.”

  “Well, I’m sure at some point someone is going to fail the test. But meanwhile, it’s not like people choose their destinations blindly – we let them know what’s allowed and not allowed ahead of time, so it’s not as if they’re going to choose a mission that’s going to get them rejected. If someone comes into the program understanding about what would and wouldn’t work, their choice of destination is probably going to be fine. Jeff, millions of people have to take their shoes off before they get on a plane because one guy hid a bomb in his shoe. There are bad people out there and someday one of them is going to infiltrate the program, but the chances-”

  “One already did,” Jeff said, interrupting him. “The system didn’t catch him.”

  Now Abby jumped in. After all, it was her system. “Out of the various components in this process, even though it was in a different reality, I can assure you it was not the algorithm that missed that one. Our process is based on data. There is no data to support recollections that have been passed down. If anything, the psych exam should’ve caught that Kane was up to something.”

  Dexter started to laugh at the irony that the entire time travel process had started with the two of them planning missions based solely on recollections, but his reminiscing was shut down by a piercing glare Abby shot across the table.

  Jeff laughed. “Abby, what – what’s the defensiveness for? Is that aimed at me because Dr. Graham was my girlfriend? That’s a little short-sighted,
don’t you think?” She shrugged. “When I said the system, I meant the whole system. Not just your computer program.”

  “I just want to be clear,” she said. “This is the smartest computer on the planet. The likelihood that this system will make an error before a human is about 437 million to one.”

  “And yet George Mellen is dead.” He held his hands up as she started to retort. “I’m just saying. There are varying degrees of ‘error.’”

  Dexter watched as Abby stewed for a moment, feeling like he should intervene, but not knowing quite what to say. Jeff’s points were certainly valid, regardless of Abby’s reaction to them. Especially with the way Jeff was studying the devices in the museum, Dexter was beginning to sense that he was up to something beyond helping him restore the history surrounding Benjamin Kane. Perhaps he had something planned for when they got back.

  After a minute, Abby took a deep breath. “What are you getting at, Jeff?”

  “Look,” he said. “I’m not trying to insult you or your system. What I’m saying is that there are flaws in the overall Time Program that I don’t think are necessarily accidental.”

  “Jeff, I wrote the program myself-”

  He shook his head. “I’m not talking about the writing of the program. I think your program is one of the most incredible things I’ve ever seen, and you should be proud. But my assumption is that, if someone wants to get approved for a mission badly enough, they can find a way to make it happen. And if someone wants to use time travel to cause harm, it’s easy enough to do. It was my fear from the beginning, and both of you were there with me. You remember.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “What, were there 370 scenarios that were possible conflicts in my analysis? And you might’ve gone through those? That’s what you said – ‘might’ve.’ What’s the number that would trigger a review? Five hundred? A thousand? Is it higher if I dangle a $5,000,000 check in front of you?”

  Dexter was shaking his head. “Jeff, it doesn’t work that way.”

  “It’s exactly how it works,” he said. “We saw it happen with Benjamin Kane. And you told me yesterday the head of the program gives the thumbs up or down for final approval of a mission. What do you think the outcome’s going to be?”

  He looked at Abby, who waved her hands in disgust at Jeff. Conscious of the possibility – or, more likely the reality – of the powers-that-be listening in, Dexter leaned forward in an attempt to calm things down. “Interesting theories,” he said. “Perhaps we can discuss them more after your physical. Grab lunch or something?”

  Jeff got the hint and rolled his eyes, forcibly laughing. “Are we done, then?” he asked.

  Dexter nodded, then ushered him past Abby and out of the room. Once they were out of earshot, he whispered, “What was that? You know they’re listening.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jeff said, walking down the hallway overlooking the atrium.

  “It does if they decide they’re better off without you.”

  He shook his head. “No. They need me. For now.”

  “Yeah, well, ‘for now’ has a time limit,” Dexter said as they hit the elevators.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Jeff laughed out loud when Dexter handed him a cell phone. Could they be any more obvious that they wanted an easier way to track his every move? He had no intention of using it unless a strategic opportunity presented itself.

  Dexter hadn’t asked why he’d laughed – probably having figured it out on his own. The idea that the government would be on top of Jeff at all times had been a legitimate concern during the early phases of his experiments, but the longer he’d gone without being noticed, the further into the back of his mind he’d pushed it. Which had probably been a mistake. He should have been more aware of what could actually happen once the time device left his control. Otherwise, it might not have ended up somehow and sometime in the middle of the Sierra Nevada forest, which had kicked off this entire catastrophe waiting to happen.

  The phone had been delivered after they’d broken for lunch – which was supposed to be an early lunch forced by Dexter’s wanting to flee the session with Abby. But they never had it. The two of them had engaged in a quick argument outside on the front steps of the USTP before Jeff had added to Dexter’s to-do list and sent him on his way. He knew Dexter wasn’t happy with everything he’d said in the room with Abby, but that was in large part because Jeff hadn’t explained to him exactly where his mind was – something he had no intention of doing. At the end of the conversation, they’d both taken a deep breath and he’d instructed Dexter that he needed two things in preparation for the next morning: the original battery from the Museum – the one with four charges in it, just to play it safe – and a supply of 1930s cash. He’d asked if his friend could collect those things while he was in his physical training. Dexter hadn’t questioned either request, and hadn’t blinked an eye either. Securing them was well within his means, and Jeff was sure that the era-appropriate money gave Dexter confidence that his own mission was the immediate priority.

  Dexter had left in his own car, and now Jeff sat in the driver’s seat of his rental car. While the December air had gotten pretty chilly, the sun on the car had kept it warm. The new cell phone sat on the passenger seat while Jeff brought Abby’s tablet to life, now plugged into the car charger after not having been used for several days while in Fisher’s custody.

  While the USTP would trace every communication Jeff made on the newly-issued cell phone, they were not aware that he had the tablet in his possession. Of course, he didn’t know if he had a mobile plan, and unlike in Russia when he’d gotten lucky by connecting through Abby’s, he didn’t want to alert anyone by trying. Going to a coffee shop with free Wi-Fi would be too obvious, as well. Instead, he used his new cell phone to create a mobile hot-spot and signed in to the internet there in the car. He reasoned it wasn’t the kind of thing they’d trace until they got the next bill, and he only needed it momentarily.

  Opening up the tablet’s messaging app, he input Fisher’s phone number, which he’d memorized from his arm the night before. He typed a short message: “This is Dr. Jacobs. It’s time. Satchel’s in my car. Meet me out front at 2 p.m.” He hit send and quickly shut down both the tablet and the hot-spot. He placed everything in the satchel and set it on the floor by the passenger seat.

  Jeff returned to the building and ordered a panini at the café. He took his time eating it and observing all of the action around him in the USTP atrium, keeping one eye on an enormous clock hanging over the main entrance – visible only once a person was in the building. He let some time tick away until the clock hit 1:30 p.m., then threw his plate into a recycling bin and walked up to the security desk on the far side of the room. He explained who he was, which wasn’t necessary. The clerk made a few phone calls before telling him that a Captain Lowenstein would be down momentarily to get him.

  He waited only 30 seconds before an athletic man in a muscle shirt and work-out pants emerged from the high security doors. He was chiseled from his crew cut down to his wrestling shoes, and Jeff’s immediate thought was that if he was actually serious about physical training, this would be the guy he wanted as an instructor. They introduced themselves and then Jeff followed Lowenstein through the doors and up a flight of stairs where they came into a training room that looked like any of the commercial gyms he’d been in. Not that he spent a lot of time in them, but he’d had his phases from time to time. Once he’d gone to the gym three days a week, for an entire week.

  After Jeff changed into the workout clothes provided for him, Lowenstein explained what was going to happen – the same process that all of the participants in the program had to complete. It wasn’t particularly strenuous, but Jeff would be required to demonstrate some degree of stamina. Jeff was actually waiting for his body to be physically assaulted with exercise so that he could further make the case that Benjamin Kane should never have been allowed to time travel, but after several sets
of squat thrusts, twenty minutes on a stationary bike, and twenty more minutes on a stair climber, he realized there wasn’t much to it. He’d broken a sweat, but by no means was he overwhelmed. “That’s it?” he asked.

  “We’re not training for the Olympics,” Lowenstein said. “All we need to know is that you’re not going to have a heart attack if you have to run for your life.”

  “It’s not a very impressive program,” Jeff said in between pants. He had noticed the clock on the wall passing 2 p.m. and hoped Fisher was waiting outside as he’d requested.

  Lowenstein smiled. “I had nothing to do with creating it, sir.”

  Jeff laughed. “Oh. I suppose I did?”

  “I didn’t say that, sir.” But obviously he had. Which made Jeff wonder why on Earth he was involved with so many aspects of the program in which he had zero expertise. “Let’s get to the good stuff.”

  “Wait, one more thing.” Lowenstein turned back to him. “Did you train Benjamin Kane?”

  “No, sir. I’ve trained all of the participants in the program, and that name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  Jeff silently swore. He kept doing that. Kane hadn’t time traveled in this reality, so he never would have been trained. In fact, outside of a small group of them, no one would have any idea who Benjamin Kane was. He shook his head. “Oh, just wondering,” he said, keeping it mysterious. “Let’s go.”

  Lowenstein led him to the opposite side of the room, where there were a number of red and white mats on the floor and two heavy bags hanging from steel frames. “The trick with your training,” he said, “is that you’re in a unique position. If we were simply teaching you self-defense, I would teach you how to disable your attacker and get away from the situation. Unfortunately, in your case, you can’t just get away because if you’re traveling with a subject, you can’t abandon them. Your only choice is to disable them so that you can protect yourself and ensure their safe trip back to the present time.”