Middle Falls Time Travel Series, Books 4-6 (Middle Falls Time Travel Boxed Sets Book 2)

by Shawn Inmon

  Chapter Thirty

  There was a knock on the only door that led into the interrogation room.

  “Yes?” Johnson said, annoyance obvious in his voice.

  A younger man, also dressed in the de facto FBI uniform—dark suit, white shirt, tie—poked his head in. “Sorry, sorry, but we’ve got something brewing out here. There’s a man who says he is this man’s attorney, and he says that if we don’t let him in to talk to his client, he’s going to hold a press conference out on the front steps of the courthouse, questioning why we are holding him. Oh, and there’s about a hundred reporters out there, and more arriving every minute.”

  “Damn it. Any word from Washington, yet?”

  “Just that we’re in a holding pattern. Keep him here, try to keep a lid on it. I think they’re flying someone out, but they won’t be here for hours yet.”

  “I didn’t hear anything in there about suspending an individual’s rights for the good of the nation. Mr. Moon, you have an attorney wishing to speak to you. Do you wish to speak to him?”

  “I think I would. Yes.”

  “Surely they’ve got a bigger conference room in this place than this?” Johnson said to the junior agent.

  The younger agent poked his head back out and had a muffled conversation with someone Nathaniel couldn’t see. “Yessir, they do.”

  “Have someone fetch his attorney there, and someone to show us where the conference room is.”

  Johnson stood, stretched, and said, “Probably not much more I can do for you than that.”

  “Understood. Thank you.”

  “I’m likely to lose control of what’s going on here. Some heavy hitter from Washington will be showing up soon, and I’ll be shuffled back up to Portland. In case I don’t see you again, I appreciate what you just did for me. I am a new man.”

  NATHANIEL WAS LEFT alone in a much bigger conference room, sitting at a long table with nearly a dozen chairs around it.

  Still no two way mirror, though. Maybe Middle Falls just isn’t big enough to spring for that kind of budget.

  A young Middle Falls officer opened the door and escorted in an older man carrying a briefcase. He was just a few pounds on the wrong side of the scale, but had an open, pleasant face and distinguished gray hair.

  He walked to Nathaniel, set the briefcase on the table, and offered his hand. “Nathaniel?”

  Nathaniel nodded and shook his hand.

  Interesting vibe. Not an ordinary man. Same thing I felt when I first met Andi, and Jon. Which means—

  “Pleased to meet you,” the man said, interrupting Nathaniel’s thoughts. “I’m Thomas Weaver. I’m an attorney here in town. Your friend Jon West called me at home this evening and asked me to come down and possibly represent you. He thought you might need the kind of help I can provide.”

  “I’ve seen your office downtown. Right across from the library, right?”

  “Exactly.” Weaver took a yellow pad out of the briefcase and asked, “Mind if I sit?”

  “I appear to have dragged you away from hearth and home late on a Wednesday evening, so I think you’re entitled to a chair.”

  “Before we begin, Jon asked me to tell you that he’s picked up your dog. He also believes you saved his daughter’s life. Now,” Weaver said, settling in, “I’m going to ask you a few questions, but if you need to know something from me, stop me any time. To be clear—I don’t represent you yet. I will make this first consultation pro bono, but I need to know if you would like me to represent you. If so, then anything you tell me in this room will be protected under attorney-client privilege.”

  “That doesn’t matter, Mr. Weaver—“

  “—Please, call me Thomas—“

  “—sure, Thomas. In any case, privilege doesn’t matter here. I’ve got nothing to hide. I did nothing wrong. I just did something unusual, and now, the government is involved. That’s never good. But, at the same time, it would be good to have someone who understands the law advising me. So, yes, I would like to hire you to represent me. Do you require a retainer?”

  “No, none needed. Let’s see where this is headed first. Okay. Okay, okay,” he said absently, putting pen to pad. “Have they told you if you are being charged with anything?”

  “No. I’m not sure what they would charge me with. Hindering a domestic terrorist in the commission of a felony?”

  “Yes. Right. I’ve seen the footage. I think most people in America have seen the footage by now. Remarkable. One concern is that they might paint this whole thing as a hoax, whether it was or not. An illusion, like when the magician made The Statue of Liberty disappear. Governments don’t like things they can’t explain. Or, control.”

  “Just for reference—I couldn’t do that. Make Lady Liberty disappear, I mean. Look. I know this all has to seem pretty odd, coming into it cold.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve seen some odd things in my lifetime. I know there are things that have no easy or obvious explanation but are true, nonetheless. We’ll proceed from there. So. They can hold you for twenty-four hours without charging you. Or, if the feds get involved, which is likely, up to fourteen days, if they invoke the Terrorism Act.”

  “Mr. Weaver, what you saw on the tape is exactly what happened. If, for the sake of argument, we can agree that’s true, what would you advise me to do?”

  “Well, we have options. We can cooperate fully. Essentially let them do with you what they will while they investigate. But I don’t think that’s the right choice. Not that I don’t trust the government, but I grew up with Nixon as President. I watched the Watergate hearings for fun. I’m naturally suspicious.”

  Weaver jotted a few notes to himself on his legal pad.

  “Another option would be to fight this through the normal chain of events. That’s probably the safest path. In all likelihood, I can get you out of here within those twenty-four hours. They’re going to have a hard time showing you as a terrorist.”

  “Are those my only options?”

  “Well, no. This case is extraordinary. Nothing since 9/11 has gained so much attention, so rapidly. I could try to leverage that attention, that publicity, to get you released quicker. I don’t mind a fight—it’s what I get paid to do. But, it’s a question of what gives us the best chance of success. The key question is, what do you want out of this?”

  Nathaniel said, “Huh,” to himself. “What I’d like is to be able to go home to my house, my dog, and my friends. Maybe have a beer with Jon and talk about this. I’d like to go back to work at the hospital next week, when my vacation is up. I’d like this to all blow over.” He looked at his attorney. “But, I don’t think that’s likely, do you?”

  “I had to park three blocks away, because everything closer was taken up by network news trucks and reporters. Your friend Jon said they’re already parked up and down the road you live on, staking out your house. He had to fight his way through them to pick up your dog.” Weaver’s smart phone chimed an alert. He thumbed it open, then read for a moment. “That’s from my assistant. He says we’re being swamped with interview requests, both for me, and for you. I don’t see any way that this will blow over soon.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  There was a sharp rap on the door, then an Oregon State trooper, tall and intimidating, stuck his head in and motioned Thomas Weaver over. Thomas stood and walked quickly to him. They put their heads together in a whispered conference. Eventually Thomas nodded, and returned to the table.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” Weaver said, pitching his voice low and confidential. “There’s someone that wants to meet with you, and I think it will be beneficial to our cause.”

  “By all means,” Nathaniel said, with a sweep of his hand and a smile. “I don’t have any illusions that I’m running the show around here, anyway.”

  Nathaniel and Thomas sat looking at each other, Thomas drumming his fingers for a minute. Finally, Thomas said, “Hey, do you want me to see if they’ve got any coffee on?”


  “God, no!” Nathaniel said, just as the door opened and Edward Buchan, the Governor of the great state of Oregon walked in, accompanied by the same State Trooper and a young man with an iPad and a worried expression. Governor Buchan looked the part of a twenty-first century governor. He was tanned—but not too tanned - with dark hair graying at the temples, and fashionable—but not too fashionable - glasses.

  He strode across the room to Nathaniel, hand extended. Nathaniel, sitting with his legs crossed, was caught off-guard at the presence of the governor. He did his best to untangle himself and accept the governor’s handshake.

  “Mr. Moon, I recognize you from the extraordinary video I saw earlier, and the pictures they’ve been broadcasting ever since.” Governor Buchan leaned forward slightly and peered deeply into Nathaniel’s eyes—a long-held habit that had caused many a government employee to wilt. “Truly, extraordinary,” he said, as if to himself. He gestured at the chair beside Nathaniel. “May I?”

  It’s tempting to say, ‘It’s your state, you can sit wherever you want,’ but this is probably not the moment.

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll get right to it, then. Mr. Moon, you did a tremendous service for everyone today, but especially for me. I was in Eastern Oregon, doing an inspection of an area that had been ravaged by wildfires when this whole ordeal started. I did my best to get here to resolve this in a timely manner, but before I could, it seems you handled it on your own. And now, I owe you a particular debt of gratitude. You see, my granddaughter Marla attends that school. She’s in Mrs. Adams’ fourth grade class. If that madman had carried out his plans, she would almost certainly be dead tonight.”

  The governor shook his head, and Nathaniel saw tears in his eyes. This guy’s either an incredible actor, or a sincere and real human being. I’ll go with the latter. But, what do you say to that?

  “I don’t know how I could have gone on, if that had happened, and I know I share that with hundreds of other parents and grandparents. Now I’ve heard this nonsense about the whole thing being a setup and all that, but the people who would say that weren’t there from the beginning, were they? They didn’t face the impossible situation. You did. Oh, I’m sure that by morning, the crazies and uninformed will be spreading rumors and far-fetched conspiracy theories, but those are the fringe elements. Nothing to be done about them. They will always be there.”

  Buchan slapped his hand down on the table.

  “Enough of that. I came here for two reasons. First, to tell you thank you. So from my wife and I, and our son and daughter-in-law, thank you from the bottom of our hearts for the incomparable gift you gave us. The second reason is, I want to know if there’s anything I can do for you?”

  Thomas Weaver raised his hand to Nathaniel, and spoke. “Governor, I’m Thomas Weaver. I’m Mr. Moon’s attorney. At the moment, we’re sitting in a police station, and we’ve been given every reason to believe that we’re not allowed to leave. And yet, that is exactly what Mr. Moon would like to do. Is there anything you can do to help us with that?”

  Buchan turned to the serious young man, whom he had not introduced. “David?”

  “One minute, sir,” David said, and hurried from the room.

  Buchan returned his attention to Thomas. “The last I heard, the feds haven’t passed on any instructions yet.” He glanced at his watch. “Of course, that’s because the whole incident is only a few hours old. I’m sure interference from Washington is coming. I’m just as sure they are scrambling trying to figure out what to do with you. However, until I hear differently, it’s in the hands of the local authorities and the State of Oregon. Please know, anything I can do, I will.”

  The governor stood, shook hands with both Nathaniel and Thomas, and exited the room with the trooper in tow.

  Thomas looked at Nathaniel and raised his eyebrows, as if to say, Well, how about that?

  Minutes passed, and Nathaniel had come to believe he was destined to spend the night in the care of the FBI or the Middle Falls Police, when the door opened and Special Agent Johnson entered.

  “You’ve got friends in high places, Mr. Moon.”

  “Only very recently. Until today, I was only a VIP at the Kwik-E-Mart, where I got every tenth cup of coffee free.”

  “You’re moving up in the world then. The Governor has spoken to the Middle Falls Police Chief and me, and asked, as a favor to him, if we would facilitate your release sooner, rather than later. Since I don’t have any reason to believe you actually did anything wrong, and since I haven’t received any specific orders from Washington, I am going along with that.”

  “Great!” Nathaniel said, standing up quickly. “Let’s go!”

  “If I were you, I’d make some sort of an arrangement. There’s something close to 200 reporters and cameramen waiting at the front of the station, and they’d all like a piece of you. If they see you leave here, you’re going to have a lot of company tagging along. But, it’s up to you. You’re free to go.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Half an hour later, Thomas Weaver emerged from the front of the police station into the glare of klieg lights and camera flashes. He led a small entourage of people, including Jon West, Violet Moon, Ben Jenkins, another attorney in Thomas’s office, and, in the middle, a tall thin man with a Middle Falls High School hoodie covering his head.

  The group was bombarded with questions. “How did you do it, Nathaniel?” “Can you walk on water, too?” “Do another miracle for us!” That last wasn’t a question, but it was heard repeatedly. No one in the group answered, but piled into Thomas’s white Cadillac Escalade.

  The Escalade pulled away quickly and drove off into the night in the direction of I-5. As Special Agent Johnson had predicted, a number of reporters piled into their own vehicles and gave chase. The rest of the group stayed behind and began to pack up their equipment.

  After another forty-five minutes had passed, everyone except for a skeleton crew of reporters and camera people who were waiting for further instructions, had left. Initially, reporters had staked out the back door of the station as well, but when no one had emerged, it appeared they too had packed up and headed elsewhere.

  Nathaniel Moon slipped out the back door and took a few steps toward a late model Toyota that had been left for him. He had only taken a few steps when he heard, “Hello, Nathaniel,” from a voice deep in the shadows.

  Nathaniel cocked his head in the direction of the voice, then peered into the darkness. “Jeff? Is that you?”

  “In the flesh.”

  Jeff Hudson, a reporter for the local Middle Falls Chronicle, stepped forward. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “It’s okay. You didn’t. I knew someone had to be waiting out here. Glad it’s you, instead of someone I don’t know.”

  “Crazy day, huh?”

  “You could say so.”

  “Have you always been able to do stuff like that? I mean, we went to school together, and I always knew you and Jon kind of hung by yourselves mostly, but ...”

  “But, I didn’t walk across the swimming pool, right?”

  Jeff laughed, but said, “Yeah, exactly.”

  “I didn’t wake up this morning knowing I could swallow a bomb, no. I didn’t know I could do it until I had to do it. A lot of things in life are like that, right?”

  “Sure. You hear about moms who lift a car off their kid, but I don’t care how much stress I was under, if I stood that close to a bomb, they’d be picking up pieces of me in Eugene.”

  Nathaniel just nodded, but didn’t answer.

  “Don’t suppose you want to sit down with me for an interview back at the office.”

  “You suppose correctly. What I’d like to do is be able to go home and see my dog and play some music, but I’m not sure that’s in the cards for a while.”

  “They’ve definitely got your place staked out. If I was wanting a little privacy, I would head the other direction.”

  “Thanks, Jeff. Much appreciated
.” Nathaniel climbed into the car, turned the key and drove away.

  As he did, Jeff Hudson used his phone to take a picture of the back of the car, with a clear shot of the license plates. He sent a text to a national reporter who had promised him five hundred dollars for good information, and attached the photo. The text read, This is what he’s really driving. Send the money to me at the address I gave you.

  NATHANIEL DROVE ALONG the back streets of Middle Falls, streets he had walked, bicycled and roller-skated for more than thirty years.

  He pulled into the house of a friend of a friend of a friend, who was waiting for him on the front porch. When Nathaniel turned into the driveway, the man stepped off the porch. When Nathaniel emerged from the Toyota, he tossed him a new set of keys and nodded to a ten year old Ford Focus. It was blue, and was about as anonymous a vehicle as Nathaniel could have asked for.

  “Thank you,” Nathaniel said with a wave.

  The man waved back and retreated inside his house.

  The lengths a man has to go to in order to maintain a little privacy.

  Thomas Weaver had orchestrated the whole escape for him—the person impersonating Nathaniel leaving the police station was Thomas’s brother Zack, who was older, but had a similar build. It was also Thomas’s idea to swap cars, certain that at least one person would see him leaving the station and record the license plates.