The idea that this involved Oncelers seemed so unlikely. After all this time what could prompt Skippers to suddenly divulge their secret to the outside world? He had to imagine there was some rift between Skippers. But what could it be that would seem so important it would justify seven murders.
Of course, from a Skipper’s perspective it might not seem like murder. The perpetrator might simply have wanted to temporarily incapacitate his adversaries. Or, he or she might just consider it punishment. A removal from life number seven. Ten years lost and then poof, your back. Lovelle wondered what that would be like. One second you’re taking your last breath, and the next, you’re waking up as a 16 year-old again. Although in China, he wondered if the timing of the skip put them back in their 16 year-old body in the middle of the day. That would have been hell the first time it happened. He could imagine being 34, having coffee with a coworker, and then boom! You're 16, walking down the street holding hands with your teenage sweetheart. Talk about disconcerting. How do you keep from making a scene in that scenario?
The first time Lovelle had skipped back he had awoken in his parent’s house. Alone in his room and groggy from sleep he did not experience a great moment of shock. For a while he was convinced that it was only a vivid dream. That notion had allowed him to transition into his new old life without making too much of a spectacle of himself. He could only imagine what his reaction would have been to have found himself instantly transported from a meeting with a client and dropped into his 16 year-old body during geometry class.
Lovelle snapped out of his reverie. He had to decide what to do. He had been thinking about this off and on for the two and a half weeks he’d been gone. But he couldn’t decide what to do. He traveled to Europe and Central and South America in every lifetime for his “work”. As Mark Ridge he was a freelance photo journalist. This allowed him to deflect a lot of questions, and it sometimes opened doors for him. But, he had never been to China, and China in 1993 was not as open to America as it would be in 2003.
He figured he could get in and out okay. He just wasn’t sure how much good it would do him. In the end, he decided it couldn’t hurt, at least as long as he didn’t press the wrong people for information. He didn’t have any Constitutional protection if he asked the wrong question of the wrong person. American jurisprudence and the freedom of the press wouldn’t do him any good.
Lovelle had found himself on the wrong side of the German BKP, their version of the FBI, during life number two. It was one of the more frightening times during his long life. Of course, at the time, he had no idea he would be skipping back again. That made his fear much more tangible. As far as he knew then, confinement in a German prison could be permanent. This time, any trouble he got into couldn’t last more than 10 years. Less if he got himself killed.
***
Lovelle’s alter ego, Mark Ridge, was about as solid a fake identity as you could get. Ridge was a real person. He was killed in a car wreck along with his parents at the age of three. That was just a couple of months before Lovelle was born. Lovelle found out about him at the end of his third life. Early in his next life, he secured a birth certificate and used that to establish a new identity. He had used the identity for so long that he was equally comfortable as Ridge or Lovelle. Having a totally legitimate identity, which is three years older than you, can also come in handy to a 16 year-old. Especially when you earn the bulk of your income betting on sports. Lovelle was very thorough in establishing Ridge’s credentials. He had a bank account. He paid taxes, booked his flights, and regularly used his passport. He even had his own friends, or more precisely, associates, totally separate from Lovelle's. If it were ever necessary, Lovelle could disappear and live the rest of his life as Ridge without missing a beat.
Lovelle decided that he could best make his way into China by steps. He packed all his photography and recording equipment and made his way to Japan. There, he secured a cheap hotel where he could drop the bulk of his gear. He would be telling people that he had already been working in Japan when he came across the birthday bombing story, and that it had piqued his interest. The placement of the extra gear was to help him maintain that facade in case any one bothered to check. His story would not hold up to any severe scrutiny, but, it would do fine at a casual glance.
From Japan he made his way to Hong Kong. This western friendly metropolis gave him no more trouble than he had experienced in Tokyo. Once in Hong Kong he was able to find a translator and guide. This man assured him he would have no trouble getting Lovelle over the border and to Xianghe County, southeast of Beijing, where the bombing took place. Whether they would learn anything useful was a different matter.
“I’m afraid that, whatever conclusions they may have come to, they will still tell you nothing because you are an American. You must understand that their suspicion of the west causes them to sometimes act irrationally.” The man told him.
“They should understand that their penchant for keeping secrets only fuels the curious nature of western journalists.” Lovelle replied.
The guide’s expression turned sour and his voice had a grave tone, “You must not press the police. This is not America. You do not have your Bill of Rights to protect you where we are going.”
“Don’t worry.” He reassured the man, “I wasn’t speaking of myself. I have no intention of getting either of us in any trouble." He wasn't sure if that was really true, but, it didn’t seem like a good idea to tell the man otherwise.
The guide had turned out to be particularly prescient. The local authorities gave Lovelle next to nothing. They let him take a few pictures of the burned out home, albeit from a distance. They gave him the victims’ names and some basic contact information for their families. They also confirmed for him that they did indeed share his birthday. Outside of that, he was politely informed that the investigation was ongoing, and that, if he left his contact information he would be updated when the case was closed. He doubted anything would come of that, but, he left the number of his hotel, if for no other reason than to maintain the charade.
Although the local authorities did provide him with the addresses of the families of the victims, which was as much as he could have hoped for, that wasn't good enough for Lovelle. He did not want to be kept at arms length from the crime scene. Not because he was likely to learn something of great import, but, mainly because it challenged his sense of efficacy. As an American he had an expectation of a certain level of openness. As a Skipper and a vigilante he was accustomed to doing what he believed necessary, regardless of any prohibitions. He knew he would get nowhere badgering the local police. Nowhere except maybe into trouble, as his guide had cautioned. And, he had promised the man that he would not, albeit with his fingers metaphorically crossed behind his back. So, he was going to have to take it upon himself to get a closer look.
Primarily needing to secure from the police exactly the type of information that they had provided, Lovelle had entered China openly. Knowing that only the government could furnish that contact information, he had sacrificed the ability to enter with the requisite equipment for a reconnaissance mission. Not only did he not have the gear he needed to effectively move around covertly, but, he did not have the privacy he would have liked either. The locals were quite aware of his presence and his interest in the case. He had to assume they would be watching. This left him with two choices. One, leave the country and re-enter under the radar. Now that he knew where he was going, he believed he could do this quite easily. Or, two, he could work around the difficulties and get to the house now. If time were no issue he would certainly have chosen the former. But, frankly, he had been surprised that the house had not already been demolished. And he did not expect it to stand for long. Especially now that a Western journalist had come sniffing around.
***
Lovelle waited until after midnight to venture out. He would have liked to have been able to exit by the window, but, he was several stories up, without a rope. He also did not ha
ve the balaclava style mask to cover his face and head. Or the military style jacket and pants, all in black, with pockets for flashlights, knives and other assorted utensils, all of which he also did not have. But, he did have black pants, a black leather jacket, and a can of shoe polish. And, since his hair was a very dark brown, he was able to black himself out quite effectively.
Exiting the building was not a particularly difficult problem either. The structure of the hotel was such that he could use a service stairwell to access the ground floor unnoticed, then exit via a rear entrance. The greater difficulty could be re-entry. Although Lovelle was a skilled lock picker, those tools were among the things left behind. He could, however, rig the door not to lock and hope that no one else used that particular entrance after hours. The old hotel was not of the high security type. He was able to simply wedge a folded business card so as to hold the latch open. In this way the door would close and look perfectly normal but would not latch.
The run to the scene of the crime took a little less than an hour. Although he worked to stay fit, and did run as a part of his regimen, he did not train for distance. Evasion was his objective, so sprinting was his focus. He arrived at the crime scene quite out of breath. He was not looking forward to the return trip.
Using a light that he had brought in as part of his camera kit, he picked his way through the rubble. He entered what remained of the shell of the house through an opening in what would have been the front wall. Very quickly he realized that he did not know what he was looking for. “What am I doing?” He muttered to himself. He had no training in forensics. Being a killer does not translate in to be able to catch a killer. He had come out here thinking, what, that the answers would just pop into his head if he saw the right things? Looking around, he was learning nothing that he hadn't known from a distance. Namely, that the killer had done a very thorough job. He or she had wanted to kill everyone in the house, and had made sure that would happen. Lovelle kicked at some of the rubble and debris, and thought, I need to get out of here. He was risking his freedom for nothing. He had been right to think that the most valuable information he would get would be from the police. He now knew definitively that they were Skippers. And, he knew where they would be when time skipped again. That would be when the real detective work would begin.
Other than being winded, Lovelle made it back into his room without a problem. He decided he would have to incorporate a little cross-country running into his routine. He had now officially done more of that on the job than sprinting, which he had yet to need. The wedge in the door had been undetected, and so had he. The biggest difficulty that night was removing the shoe polish. He had nothing in his bag for that, and simple bar soap from the hotel was hardly adequate for the task. He got little sleep that night.
Chapter 4
The entire excursion to China took less than three weeks. But, it had seemed to him to be so much longer. With nearly one and a third centuries under his belt, and no indication an end was anywhere in the near future, Lovelle was generally quite patient. But, two days after he arrived home he was back in Florida. For the entire trip Maria was in the back of his mind. He had all but decided he was going to meet her before he had even left for Portland. Her constant presence in the back of his mind while he was working in China had cemented the conclusion. The only real decision to make was how he was going to do it. He could engineer a chance meeting without any difficulty. But, he wasn’t sure if it wouldn’t be better to come straight out and admit he was a Skipper. If he came at her under some other guise, it might spoil things should he need to tell her later. However, worrying about that was definitely putting the cart before the horse. Finally, he decided he couldn’t break his long protected cover just because he had the hots for some woman. Of course, his feelings weren’t quite that simple, but, the principle was the same. If she was someone he wanted in his life, he would have to rely on her to understand his need for caution and secrecy. If she couldn't do that, then she would probably not be someone he should have around.
***
Maria worked at an insurance office. Lovelle would just have to develop a need for an insurance agent. So he found a little rent by the week motel not far from where she lived. The place was a real dump. Although Maria’s neighborhood seemed nice enough, like any big city you didn’t have to go very far to find a rougher area. And weekly rental flop houses weren't typically found in the best of places. His motel was right in the middle of that rough spot. The building was covered in gang graffiti of the sort that was not at all artistic, but instead, marked territory. The parking lot was crumbling, the sign was cracked, the front door was nearly off its hinges, and the front desk looked as if it had been salvaged from a public park, where everyone with a pocketknife thought it necessary to leave their mark.
The inside of his room was only marginally better. The sofa and the easy chair were both torn, with bits of stuffing jutting from the holes. The desk and coffee table were battered from years of abuse. And worst of all, the bed linens were dingy and stained. Fortunately, he had anticipated this. Inside his luggage were two brand new sets of sheets and a thin blanket which would be more than adequate for summer in Florida. He stripped the bed, folded the linens and set them on the sofa. He inspected the bare mattress for signs of bed bugs and gratefully found none. Although he never lacked for money and could afford to stay almost anywhere he liked, Lovelle was no stranger to this sort of low rent accommodations. He always stayed in the most appropriate place for accomplishing his missions. And that was seldom the Four Seasons.
Next, he opened the window a crack, which was all a security bar in the track would allow. Then he pulled another item from his bag, a can of Lysol, and generously applied a coating to every surface in the room. He would have to give it time to dry before he unloaded the rest of his bags and made up the bed. So he left it like that and exited to go about his business.
***
Lovelle had arrived early enough that he still had time to make his way to the insurance office in the late afternoon. He entered the office and there sat Maria at the reception desk. He smiled broadly. He hadn’t actually known what she did inside the office. For all he knew, she might have been sequestered in some cubicle in the back where he would not even see her that day. Most Skippers had figured out how to use their experience and foreknowledge to garner the best positions in whatever career they chose. But, for all he knew, she may well have just arrived in the country. He had been prepared to improvise based on what he found, so this was a pleasant turn of events.
“May I help you?” She asked in good, but, accented English, returning his smile.
“I hope so. I need to speak to somebody about insurance. I’m just moving to town and need to find an agent to take care of me.”
She told him someone would be with him shortly, asked him to have a seat and offered him coffee. He accepted and admired her as she came out from behind her desk to pour some. She gracefully walked over and handed him the cup, and it was all he could do to pull his eyes away from hers before the moment turned awkward. He thanked her and took a sip.
“It’s very good.” He said, a little surprised, “I’ve had some pretty atrocious coffee in office waiting rooms.”
“It was pretty bad when I started working here, but, I have to drink it too. So, I got them to switch vendors.” She remarked.
“I don’t understand why anyone puts up with bad coffee. There are plenty of decent brands that don’t cost that much. Of course, with this weather I might have to switch to iced coffee.” He was baiting her, trying to stretch the conversation out. And she bit.
“Where are you from?”
“Originally Michigan, but, I live in Las Vegas right now.”
“I thought Las Vegas was pretty hot too?”
“It is, but, as they say, it’s a dry heat. The humidity is stifling here.” He wiped his brow for emphasis, “I imagine I’ll get used to it.”
“I’ve never lived in any other kind of
weather.”
“Where are you from, if you don’t mind my asking?” He said tentatively.
“Not at all. I’m from Cuba.”
“Really, how long have you lived in the States?”
“I’ve been here about a year now." She answered. That might explain why she wasn't working in a higher position. He wondered if this was actually the first time she had come.
“No kidding. You speak English exceptionally well.” He complimented her.
“I’ve been practicing for a long time," she said with obvious pride.
I’ll bet you have, he thought. Just then, an older gentleman escorted another client out and picked up a note from Maria’s desk. “Mr. Ridge?” he addressed Lovelle. “Please, come on in.” He motioned to the door. Lovelle got up and followed, stopping at the reception desk.
“It was very nice meeting you…" he paused, glancing at her name plate, "… Maria.” He extended his hand and she took it.
“Likewise, Mr. Ridge.” She replied giving his hand a friendly squeeze.
“Please, just Mark.” He corrected.
“Alright then, it was nice to meet you as well, Mark.” She gave him a big smile and held his hand just a moment longer than required for a polite business encounter.
Lovelle proceeded back into the office, unable to wipe the grin off his face. Our first touch, he was thinking. Then he thought, Oh, I am one smitten kitten.
Later, as he left, he considered asking her out right then and there. He felt sure the attraction was mutual, if a little lopsided. But, he was far from sure she didn’t have a significant other. A couple of days of surveillance just weren't that definitive. She might also, quite reasonably, be a little reticent to meet with a complete stranger outside of the security of the office.
***
Lovelle forced himself to wait three days before he made his next move. Then, she forced him to wait one more by not going out on the first night he tried to facilitate their ‘chance’ meeting. On the fifth night she walked over to the corner pub he had seen her eat at a couple of times before. This was why he had chosen the crappy motel nearby, instead of a decent place by the airport. It had to be plausible that he chose this place at random.
Time Skip (Book 2): The Time Skippers Page 3