by Jack Hunt
Killing Time
Jack Hunt
Direct Response Publishing
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Synopsis
Also by Jack Hunt
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
A Plea
Newsletter
About the Author
Copyright © 2016 by Jack Hunt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
KILLING TIME is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For my Family
Synopsis
When Alex Flynn suspects his new neighbor is a time traveler plotting to kill the next president, he sets out to prove it and gets drawn into a dangerous CIA project.
Also by Jack Hunt
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The Renegades series
The Renegades
The Renegades Book 2: Aftermath
The Renegades Book 3: Fortress
The Renegades Book 4: Colony
The Renegades Book 5: United
Mavericks series
Mavericks: Hunters Moon
If time travel is possible, where are the tourists from the future?
Stephen Hawking
Prologue
SACRAMENTO, 2013
The hands on the clock ticked over. Seconds turned into minutes and eventually the hour was up. The stone-faced cop tapped his pen against the table never taking his eyes off me. A look of concern, perhaps frustration spread across his face.
“I don’t know what else to say, that’s what happened.”
He leaned back in his chair and ran both hands over his face before screwing up the paper and tossing it into the trash can which contained two balled pieces of paper with the same information I’d given earlier.
“Alex, take me through it again.”
“How many times are we going to do this? Why don’t you just check the security surveillance?”
“There is none.”
“Convenient,” I muttered.
I sighed heavily as he restarted the digital recording device beside him.
He tilted his head from the soon to be crumpled paper and locked onto my gaze.
“Right. Now let’s start at the beginning.”
I scoffed as I looked at the clock again. It ticked. Go back. Move forward. These terms made sense to me at one time.
Time.
What is it? We knew how to measure the passing of time. And yet no scientist had been able to fully explain what time is. We remember the past but cannot remember the future; at least that’s what most would agree.
Until today, I was just like anyone else. Trudging forward through life, blissfully unaware that time was anything more than something to be wasted or seized.
“Alex,” he snapped his fingers in front of my face, bringing my attention back to him. “Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”
I shook my head before taking a sip of my water.
“Where do you want me to begin?”
“This morning.”
Placing my glass back on the table, I noticed again the dried blood covering my hands. I glanced up at the clock. Its ticking became louder until time stopped and the hands began to reverse. The hours turned into minutes, then into seconds and I found myself reliving the past — if only in my mind.
“Alex, are you ready to go?”
My father waited at the bottom of the staircase growing more impatient by the second. Patience was not his strong point, neither were excuses. I might have managed to get up early if I hadn’t been out with Eric partying the night before.
“I’ll be right there.”
That morning was my eighteenth birthday and my father and I were planning on heading down to the gun range. He said it was one of his gifts, I just think he wanted a little father and son bonding time, that, or a way to no longer feel guilty for all the time he’d missed. I’d heard my mother a few nights ago talking about how he was always too busy. She was on his back about how the years had flown by and he’d barely taken any time to hang out with me. After the summer was over I’d be heading off to college and well, I think she was trying to remind him that if he didn’t take the opportunity now, he might never get it.
My father’s reply was always the same. “Give me a break, there’s plenty of time.”
That’s one thing about my father; he always acted as if he had an unlimited amount of time.
I tugged my final boot on, yanked my jacket off the back of the door and headed down.
“There he is. The birthday boy,” my mother said with open arms.
“Laura, he’s not a boy anymore. He’s a man now. Well, he will be after he’s fired off a few rounds.” My father grinned before snagging up the keys off the hook.
I rolled my eyes and untangled myself from my mother’s bear hug. For a lady so petite and small-boned, she certainly had a herculean grip.
“And Bryan, please be careful.”
“Stop, you worry too much.” He winked, smiled and guided me out the door before she changed her mind. We hopped into the black 4 x 4 SUV and the moment the engine roared to life, I turned the radio on.
“Really?”
“What, you don’t like this tune?” I asked.
“No, I just thought we could chat.”
I raised my eyebrow and smiled with the corner of my mouth. “Mom’s been on at you again?”
I tried to act as though I didn’t know, you know, acting sympathetic to his plight and all.
My father worked for a sales company that sold new forms of software to local businesses, at least that’s what he said. Anyway he was rarely around. Most of the time he was on the road. Not that I minded now but back when I was younger it would have been nice to see him more.
“Yeah, but she’s right.”
He eased out of the driveway.
“I know I haven’t really been around much over the last couple of years with my work and all.” He breathed in through his teeth. “Anyway, look at you. You’ve grown up on me, kid. September you’ll be off to college and…”
He made a hard right, then slowed down behind the morning traffic.
Before we arrived at the gun range, he’d told me he had to make one quick pit stop and drop off a folder to a co-worker. We spent the next fifteen minutes heading across town towards the downtown business district. All the companies looked the same. I envisioned the employees scurrying around like ants, hidden behind tinted glass and looking out from the lofty columns of concrete. My father
guided the SUV around a winding road until he came to a halt outside a six-story building. I noted the number 423 engraved in stone above the doorway and then looked back down at my smartphone. Eric was awake and already sending me more photos from last night’s party. Most were of him in various stages of intoxication. Surprisingly, he’d managed to arrange it all. At first I thought it was going to be a quiet gathering but that wasn’t to be. Somehow word got out and like usual the party got way out of hand. Frat boys turned up and caused a scene, people were drunk out of their minds and then when the cops showed up, they just shut it down.
It was to be expected — we were all at that awkward age. In a matter of six months we’d be off to college and life as we knew it would change again. I’d planned to study law and become a cop. It had always been a goal to follow in my father’s footsteps. He’d been an officer with the Sacramento Police Department for sixteen years before he handed in his badge and exchanged it for a briefcase. I have to admit it was a little odd to see. My old man, a civilian again.
I chuckled at a snapshot of some guy’s face with black marker pen all over it. He obviously passed out and someone had taken it upon themselves to be the fool who used it like a canvas. I glanced up briefly in time to see my father outside the building, handing off the brown folder to a guy with a thick mustache. It looked too thick, like he was auditioning for the part of Groucho Marx. My father shook his hand and returned. I made a crack about it not being Movember yet but my father didn’t find it funny. His mind was once again preoccupied.
When he was a cop, he worked a lot of hours but at least he answered you when you asked him something. Being a sales rep consumed him.
We continued on our way with the radio barely audible.
I’d only ever visited the gun range once with my father, that was back when I was seventeen. He had to sign a waiver to clear them of all responsibility in the event I ended up with a stray bullet in my foot. For someone that was no longer in police enforcement, he certainly came out here a lot. Sometimes he visited five times in a week. While most might have headed down to the gym and pounded out a few reps, he would pound out a few rounds.
As we pulled up in front of the red building, I glanced up at the neon sign that said, The Gun Range, Indoor Shooting Facility. The hole in the letter R was designed to look as if it had been shot with a bullet, and the sweeping part of the letter looked like a bandolier.
“You ready for this?” he asked as he slammed the gear stick in park.
“Hell yeah.”
He grinned and squeezed my shoulder. It was something he’d done ever since I was knee-high. Over the following hour we fired round after round. He took me through the proper stance, use of a gun and all manner of things that I knew I would forget the moment I walked out of there. But in the moment, I was in my element.
“That’s it, lean slightly forward with your knees slightly bent. Get nice and high up on that grip.”
I moved my strong hand into position, making sure that the slide didn’t touch my hand. I rested my weak hand against the frame and my thumb from my strong hand on the other hand.
“You got your front post level with the rear?”
I shook my head. “Dad, I know what I’m doing.”
“I know. I’m just checking that it’s centered. Just remember equal light, equal height.”
He stood behind, keeping an eye on everything, occasionally stepping in to provide some tips after each round. I pressed the button on the wall and brought the target closer to take a look at how tight my shots were. They were clustered in a formation just a little off from the center of the heart.
“You sure we got you the right grip?” He took another look at the gun and then handed it back.
“Does it matter?”
“Oh yeah, without a doubt. Get the right size grip and your accuracy can feel like you are going from night to day. It sounds odd but there are a whole lot of things that come into play when you fire a gun. It’s not just all point and shoot.”
We fired a few more rounds before calling it a morning. After wrapping up, I carried out his bag while he hung back to speak to the guy at the front desk. I returned to the SUV and hopped inside. I hit the self-starter on the SUV and it roared to life. As I turned on the radio and a few tunes came blaring out, I sent over a photo of my shooting target to Eric.
Tapping my foot to the rhythm of the beat, I was flicking through social media when he replied with an old photo of his own. I laughed. His shots were all over the place. He’d visited the same place a few weeks back. Eric was older than me by several months. I was just about to text message back when I heard the gun go off. The crack echoed loudly. I looked up in time to see my dad stumbling back. One more shot and he collapsed. My eyes widened as a masked man dressed in black stood with his arm stretched out towards my father. A weapon in hand, he glanced at me for just a second.
In that moment as I yelled for my father, I felt a wave and saw a flash of pale blue light and then the stranger blinked out of existence.
That’s the only way I can put it. One second he was there, the next he was gone. He didn’t run, walk or jump. He simply vanished.
I pushed my way out of the SUV and raced over to my father who lay motionless.
“Dad!” I screamed for help but no one seemed to hear me. When someone finally came to help I was in complete shock, staring down at my hands covered in my father’s blood.
Chapter 1
3 YEARS LATER
I was twenty-one years of age when I traveled through time.
It happened in the fall of 2016. I was living on Willowbrook Street, at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac in the suburbs of Sacramento, California. It was my parents’ home. We’d lived there my entire life and up until the death of my father, my life was no different than anyone else’s. For a brief period after his murder, my mother thought about selling but for whatever reason decided otherwise. Now, I’m not sure if fate had a hand in that decision.
There are only seven houses at the end of the cul-de-sac. And like any neighborhood over the years, I saw people come and go and witnessed my fair share of odd behavior from those that lived around us, but none quite compared to the man who took up residence next door in the early part of November.
To the best of my recollection, I don’t recall his arrival as being anything but normal. I’d seen the U-Haul trailer parked outside the house as I left for class on Thursday morning. For the past year I had been taking a law enforcement program and working some minimum wage security job at the mall by night. It wasn’t ideal but it gave me some experience and as I was living off campus, it also meant I could contribute to the bills since losing my father.
After the funeral, it had taken my mother the better part of a year before she was able to summon the strength to return to work. Thankfully my father’s previous work had paid out a small sum, which helped us through those initial tough days. Once the bills started to pile up, and life behind closed curtains was no longer an option, my mother finally made the call to her old job. Unfortunately, her position was no longer available. Anyone else might have taken it through the courts. Not her. As unfair as it was, she never made a fuss over it. Instead, she just saw it as a means to switch things up. That’s of course when she got the idea to become a real estate agent. Within a year she had her license and was up and running. It meant long hours, no days off and lots of microwave dinners but at least things were looking up. In many ways, as I look back on it now, it was probably for the best. It did her good to have a job that got her out of the house and forced her back into reconnecting with people.
As for me, well, things didn’t go as smoothly.
That afternoon, my mother was dashing around as usual juggling multiple items in her hands and frequently checking her outfit.
“Have you seen my keys?”
“You left them in the laundry room.”
She shook her head and blew out her cheeks while making another mad dash. Her heels clattered
against the ground. She reappeared grasping paperwork in one hand, keys and a handbag in the other. She stopped in front of the mirror and adjusted her brown wavy hair.
“Now remember, I’m going to be late this evening, as I have four houses to show and well, you know how these things can go. Anyway, will you be okay to nuke one of the frozen dinners or grab some pizza?”
“I’ll be fine, Mom.”
Her brow furrowed. “By the way, aren’t you supposed to be in a class?”
Seeing how stressed out she was, I didn’t have the nerve to tell her the truth.
“A late lunch,” I said with a mouthful of pasta.
On the way out she paused for a minute and smiled. “Your father would have been proud of you, Alex.”
“Why?”
“The way you’ve kept your head in the books and stayed the course.”
“Right.”
That only made me feel worse. I nodded and offered back a faint smile. After the front door banged closed I tilted my head back and sighed. I reached into my jacket pocket and retrieved a white envelope from Sacramento State University. I slipped the letter out and read it again.
Dear Student:
Unfortunately, I must inform you that after a careful review of your attendance and academic record it may be necessary to drop you from this university. On the additional sheet of paper, you will find the regulations that would govern this action.
Your attendance is such that continuation in this university wouldn’t be justified as it’s very unlikely that you would be able to meet the academic requirements for graduation. I speak on behalf of the faculty in saying that we believe we have done our utmost to assist you.
Although the decision has still to be made final, the university wishes to make it clear that it still maintains an interest in you. If you feel you could turn this around and do what is required, then I would implore you to take advantage of our University Student Counseling Service for help.