by Walker, Rysa
PART THREE
ZEITNOT
Zeitnot [from German, “time crisis”]: Having very little time on the clock to complete the remaining moves of a timed game.
∞25∞
MADI
NEW YORK, NEW YORK
FEBRUARY 21, 1939
“There. That’s all of them.” Katherine pulls her key away from mine. She sounds annoyed, although I’m not sure why. I’d think she was still pissed about our conversation at breakfast, but she was friendly enough when we jumped to the Cyrist temple. Well, except for the two occasions that Saul spoke to me directly. Then she developed dagger eyes.
“You’re soaked,” she says, glancing down at my dress and then back up at my hair. “Aren’t you going to change before you go?”
Soaked might be an overstatement, but I’m definitely several stages beyond damp. May 9th was a dreary, drizzly day in New York City, and the stormy weather made most of the fairgoers grumpy. The three hours that Tyson and I spent at the Fair were miserable to the point that we were tempted to scan forward to find a sunny day to set our assigned stable points. But we were reluctant to do that, since we knew there was activity by Team Viper on that day, and we were hoping to spot some familiar faces. The only time we’d been out of the blowing rain was when we were in the auditorium for the writers’ conference. We listened to a few minutes of Thompson’s short speech after lunch, in which she sounded the clarion call for the United States to wake up. Hitler would not be content with Poland, she cautioned. An ocean would not protect us if he continued to gain power.
Neither of us saw Einstein. I did, however, spot one of the observers from Team Viper. It was the guy who was seated next to Marcy, the other one who was labeled ACADEMIC. He came in from the back of the auditorium, and I’m pretty sure he spotted us. I nudged Tyson, and we moved toward the exit, set the stable point just inside the door, and blinked out. That was our main goal, anyway. Anything important from the speeches would likely be in the paper the next day, and once we had a stable point set, we could blink back to the previous night, when the auditorium was closed, and set a few dozen more. That way, Jack could scan through and see if he was able to find Einstein or the observer. Or the best-case scenario, the observer contacting Einstein.
“Tyson and I got caught in a downpour,” I tell her. “I don’t really have time to change, though. I still need to get these stable points to Jack so that he can run through them. Would you like to come with me?”
“I’ll pass,” she says. “Pretty sure you can handle it on your own. I’m going to lie back down. My head is pounding.” She turns to Clio, who is browsing stable points in the padded armchair near the window. “Would you let me know when Rich and Tyson get back?”
“Sure,” Clio says. When Katherine is gone, she adds in a lower voice, “I’m not buying the headache. Pretty sure the bedroom will be empty in three, two, one.”
“Probably,” I admit. “Do you want to come with me instead? I mean, I don’t think it’s especially risky for you to drop by your parents’ house.”
“I don’t know about that,” she says with a grim look. “Do you know what’s going on with my mom in 1966? I’ve checked the stable points in the living room, and that place doesn’t really look like their house. In fact, it looks like it was unoccupied for quite some time before they came in to set it up for Jack.”
“I don’t know,” I tell her. It’s the truth. I don’t know. All I have are suspicions.
“Here’s the thing that’s troubling me,” Clio says. “I meant what I told all of you earlier about wanting to live a linear life. But I was in a pretty bad place about a year ago . . .” She stops, laughs bitterly, and shakes her head. “About a year ago for me, that is. In 1935. The guy I’d been dating for several years gave me an ultimatum. He wants a wife. A family. And I couldn’t even fathom the idea of that kind of commitment when I was at Simon Rand’s beck and call for his stupid time-tourist jaunts. Matt knew about Simon, understood what I was doing, but he was tired of constantly worrying about me. And while I was in the middle of what my mom calls a pity party and feeling like I was all alone in the world, I had a morbid thought about the future and wondered how long my parents would be around. How long before I really would be alone in the world, aside from my brothers. So I pulled up the stable point out by the lake and turned it toward the hill on the other side of my parents’ house to see when new headstones would appear. There’s a little graveyard up there. Have you seen it?”
“Not up close, but yeah, I noticed it when I was looking for Jack that first day. Are they . . . people you knew?”
“Yes. One is for Aunt June. Hers is just a memorial stone. There was no need for a burial. She was out of the timeline, so my dad just clipped the cord holding her CHRONOS key, and she was gone. The second one is the baby my mom had between me and Harry, when I was about five, so I don’t really remember her. A little girl they named Deborah, after my mom’s mom. We had the advantage of vaccinations for all sorts of childhood diseases, thanks to a little stockpile that my parents built up when they were still able to use the key. But they didn’t have a vaccination for the flu in 1918. They knew the flu was coming, of course, and Dad said they holed up, steering clear of pretty much everyone for weeks, to the point that the neighbors came knocking to see if the family was okay. And that’s probably how the baby caught the flu. She was only three months old. Dad said that as painful as it was losing her, there was a silver lining, at least for Harry and Connor. Because Mom, Dad, and Aunt June hadn’t been entirely sure what would happen when they took her body outside the cabin. Unlike me, that baby was conceived in this timeline—or rather, in that timeline, the one we’re trying to restore. So they both thought that she’d have been fine outside of a CHRONOS field. But that’s not exactly the kind of thing you can check, you know? And there’s a tiny grave beneath that second headstone, because the baby didn’t vanish.”
There’s a long pause, and then I give her a verbal nudge. “What about the third stone?”
“But you see, that’s just it. There shouldn’t be a third stone until 1969. And a fourth in 1980. I stared at it on and off all day, trying to get up the nerve to zoom in. And when I finally did . . .” She holds out her key to transfer the stable point to mine.
After a moment, I look up from the location. “It’s blank,” I say. “No name. No date. Why?”
She snorts. “Because Kate Dunne isn’t stupid. She figured out that a blank stone keeps both of us here. If my name was on it, Dad would assume I blink out to the fairground at some point, for some reason, and no force on earth would keep him in this apartment. And if Dad’s name was on it, the same would be true for me. At first, I was thinking there was a good possibility that she’s playing both of us and no one is beneath that stone. I mean, this could just be her insurance policy to make sure we both behave. But . . . they left the house in Skaneateles. A place they love. Something made it impossible for one or both of them to stay. It could just be the change of government, but . . .”
“All I know is that your mom was very angry when she arrived to pick Jack up at the bus station. Jack said your brother showed up at the house not long after they got there to take your mom back to Canada. He got the sense that there had been some major bribes involved for them to come across the border at all. And . . . before I left the station, she waved the picture I gave her the other night in Seneca Falls in my face and said that she wanted that future back. That I had better fix it. And I promised her I would. I told Tyson what she said, and we decided it was too dangerous for you or your dad to be out in the field. And that’s why you’ve been stuck here in the apartment.”
We’re both quiet for a long time, and then she says, “So you and Tyson decided this . . . when?”
“Last night,” I tell her, and I’m about to launch into a defense of that decision and why I didn’t tell her. Then I notice the raised eyebrows and slight tilt of her head and realize the point she’s trying to make.
Tyson and I made the decision to keep Clio and Kiernan out of the action last night. Katherine and Rich agreed.
But despite our firm decision, one that I can’t imagine any of us going back on, there are still three stones on that hill.
∞
SKANEATELES, NEW YORK
SEPTEMBER 2, 1966
MEET ME ON THE DOCK.
The note is propped against a pillar candle on the coffee table when I arrive at the stable point. I follow Jack’s instructions, and head through the kitchen. The little hypospray injector that I delivered on my last trip, filled with the serum Lorena concocted, sits on the counter next to the toaster. It made me a bit nervous when Tyson handed it to me earlier today, along with a note listing the possible side effects. I’m not afraid that it won’t work. As Jack noted, there are worse things in life than being stuck in 1966, assuming we get the timeline fixed. I’m more worried it will have negative effects, and I’m not sure how I’ll explain that to medical personnel. Oh, yes, Doctor. We just injected a bunch of chemicals into his bloodstream. Would you like a list?
I step out onto the porch. A warm, late-summer sun greets me, and I now understand Jack’s reason for leaving that note. When I last spoke to him—a few minutes ago from my perspective and four days ago from his—I handed over the stable points that Tyson and I set at the World’s Fair. My hair was, and is still, hanging in damp clumps around my face, and I’d almost certainly been wearing what my father used to call my sulky face. As I was transferring the locations to Jack’s key, I’d indulged in a bit of a rant about the weather and the crowds, noting that I really needed a vacation, and not to the damn World’s Fair. Someplace warm, sunny, and secluded. A few days on the beach near Nora’s cottage in Bray would be perfect. Then came the inevitable memory that Nora doesn’t exist, let alone her cottage, followed by the memory of the graveyard on the hill outside this house. My rant about the weather and vacations felt pointless and petty. So I’d focused again on the business at hand. I asked Jack how long he thought he needed, gave him a quick kiss, and jumped forward four days, per his instructions.
It’s not the beach. But the temperature is in the eighties, with a light breeze. The lake sparkles invitingly through the trees, and I spot Jack at the end of the pier, in cutoff jeans. There’s a green metal box next to him, tied to one of the wooden posts. A cooler, maybe? His feet are dangling in the water as he scans through stable points on his key.
I try to keep my focus on the lake and Jack. But I can’t avoid looking at the grave site on the hill. My eyes go there automatically, whether I want to look or not. The third, inexplicable headstone is still there.
But I can’t think about that now. We’ll fix it. I promised.
“How did you know it was going to be an absolutely perfect day?” I call out to Jack from the path as I make my way through the trees.
Jack smiles. “I didn’t know. But I listened to a weather report that morning from a station in Syracuse. He predicted ‘warm, sunny weather heading into your Labor Day weekend,’” he says in what I assume is an imitation of the weatherman’s voice. “Contrary to the myth, weathermen apparently did get it right from time to time, even this far back.”
I pull off my shoes and join him. My legs are shorter, so my feet are barely below the surface, but the cool water feels good after hours in uncomfortable shoes. I lean into him, and for several minutes just let the tension drain from my body and enjoy the moment, the view, and the company. The sunshine and the wind in my hair are restorative, and I would love to spend the rest of the day here with him, and then go inside, curl up, and watch the show he mentioned. Or read. Or do nothing at all. A light dinner together. Maybe an early evening swim. I want nothing more than to spend a lazy Friday afternoon in early September with the man I love. But . . . we have a little over a day total, and I only have about fifteen minutes before I’m due back at the apartment.
Jack must sense the moment my mind switches back into work mode, because he reaches into the box next to him, which has a scuffed picture of a penguin on it. I expect him to pull out a drink, but he’s holding a folder.
“Unusual filing cabinet you have there,” I tell him.
“It was selected because it’s mostly waterproof,” he says. “Plus, it’s too heavy for the wind to blow into the lake. I had to fish a folding chair out of the water yesterday. And since I’ve spent four days and worn out my vision putting together what’s in this file, I’m not taking any chances. Yes, I could do it again, in pretty much the blink of an eye from your perspective, but I’d rather not. The good news is that I’m feeling a bit more optimistic about our odds than I was four days ago.”
“That is good news. What did you find?”
“The full details are in the file, but the short version is this. I pinpointed the time that a young man wearing a silver shirt, which I’m pretty sure is now connected to Coughlin’s group, takes a shot at the Japanese ambassador. I’ve also narrowed down the time that a gentleman who is not wearing a CHRONOS key leaves a suitcase inside the British Pavilion to around nine p.m. on July 3rd, and a second man, who is wearing a key, removes it about five hours later. I’m guessing he’s one of their observers. The closet is dark, though, so we don’t have much to go on in terms of a description for either of them. I may be able to find one or both of them on the stable points outside the pavilion, but I’m not hopeful. And I have several men who might be Tomonaga at locations around the Fair on September 12th, but the photograph is of him as an older man, so I can’t really be sure. But I checked a few of the spots that you said Alex thought he might visit.”
I frown on the last one, trying to pin down exactly what he’s talking about.
“Or maybe that was in the information you brought back from Tyson and Rich. Anyway, one of the exhibits he mentioned was the Theater of Time and Space.”
“I don’t remember even seeing that on the map. Did we set a stable point there?”
“Someone did. But if you’ve got a copy of the 1940 season’s map, it wouldn’t be on there. The exhibit shut down at the end of 1939. Something called What Do opened up in that spot. Anyway, I decided to focus on that . . . and sure enough, we have two twentysomething men, one of whom is reasonably close to the picture Alex has of Tomonaga, coming out of the exhibit around eight fifteen on the evening of September 12th. Which still doesn’t tell us where they’ll be mugged, but it does give someone a starting place.”
“That’s good, then. We have the Court of Peace bombing and the Japanese ambassador. I can’t see how a nuclear physicist being mugged could be coincidental, so that would be our three moves.”
Jack shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s going to be that clear cut, unfortunately. Did you get a good look at the women on Team Viper?”
“Yeah. Briefly on the video before the game started. And I saw one of them, Alisa, at the Beatles concert.”
He transfers a stable point to my key—May 9, 1939, at 9:34 a.m. “See if that’s her.”
“Yeah,” I say after a moment. “And the guys with her are observers. I might not have recognized one of them because he’s got different facial hair, but the other one was in the auditorium during the writers’ conference. He was also seated next to the female observer, Marcy, in the video we saw just before the beginning of the match.”
“Marcy is the one Tyson saw them kill, right?”
I nod. “And erase, yeah. I’d probably have known he was an observer anyway. I can see the light of the medallion shining through the weave of the vest.”
“Which is why we’d be so much better off if you had the time to scan these,” he says. “I can see the light on the woman’s bracelet, but that’s only because it’s out in the open. Anyway . . . keep watching. They’re going to intercept a familiar face in about twenty seconds.”
Alisa is dressed in a slim skirt and jacket, with her hair in a neat bun. She’s smoking a cigarette as she paces back and forth in front of a large copper statue of
three men in ancient attire carved into the facade just above the main entrance to the building. The sky is overcast, and one of the guys is carrying an umbrella.
Her head jerks up. She looks off to her right and then drops the cigarette and crushes it out with her shoe. An elderly man in a dark suit is coming up the stairs toward her. Unlike most of the men wandering around in the background, he’s hatless, and his shaggy head of gray hair is easily identifiable, even at a distance.
Einstein nods to Alisa and her escorts and then continues toward the entrance. Alisa scurries to catch up to him and whispers something in his ear. He looks startled, but he stops and listens as she continues speaking and waves the two observers over. One of them hands her something that looks a bit like a computer tablet. Whatever is on the tablet gets Einstein’s attention, because he stares at it for a moment and then motions for them to follow him. He takes a step toward the entrance, and then looks back at the two observers. They seem to make him a bit nervous, because he reverses course, and they follow him around the side of the building.
“What is in that direction?” I ask Jack.
“They stuck the Jewish Palestine Pavilion in a spare corner surrounded by food exhibits,” he says. “Mostly because the British government wasn’t interested in hosting it, given the political climate in 1939. The Beech-Nut building is that direction, along with the National Biscuit Company Theater, which is showing a Mickey Mouse cartoon. It’s possible they went into one of those buildings, but I also found an image showing something called Tel Aviv Café, which may be on the other side of the pavilion, as well.”
“So . . . he’s taking them to lunch?” I ask.
“My best guess is that he wanted to remain in a very open, very public setting,” Jack says. “The man was not, after all, known for being stupid. Whatever she showed him got his attention, but he was a well-known German Jewish refugee who hadn’t exactly kept his views on Hitler’s rise a secret. I just wonder what she said to get his attention so quickly.”