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Red, White, and the Blues

Page 45

by Walker, Rysa


  Tyson sighs. “And that’s also a fair point.”

  “How about we still enter the moves?” Rich says. “It costs us almost nothing to do that. And we continue with the order we have set up, because that’s what we’re prepared for. But aside from that, Kiernan’s right. This isn’t a game. It never really has been.”

  Tyson calls for a quick vote. In apparent deference to Clio’s earlier comment, he doesn’t insist on a secret ballot this time. The decision is unanimous, including Kiernan, although judging from his expression he seems to be a bit skeptical of leadership by show of hands.

  “Okay,” Tyson says. “Who wants to go forward and explain all of this to the crew in 2136?”

  “I’ll go,” Madi says. “I can stop by and tell Jack, too, since it’s on my way. We need to let them know about Saul’s . . .” She’s clearly having trouble finding words for his action, then shakes it off. “We also need to impress upon Thea the importance of listening to Alex and the others and entering her move carefully. And she’ll probably take direction better from me. I’m thinking I’ll ask her to enter the move dealing with Einstein. I don’t know that she’d necessarily focus more when doing something specifically for me, but it can’t hurt.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait until we have their votes to make a decision?” Clio asks.

  “I guess we could take their vote as a formality, but I don’t think they’ll argue the point, and even if all of them did, there are six of us and five of them, so . . .”

  “What, you’re not holding out for a unanimous decision? No caucusing? No consensus building?” Kiernan asks. Clio gives him another stern look and he chuckles. “Just saying it seems a bit undemocratic to me.”

  ∞

  NEW YORK, NEW YORK

  JULY 4, 1940

  I blink in at one of the hidden stable points that Richard and I set in the gardens behind the British Pavilion just after two p.m., taking a few minutes to stop and examine several varieties of roses as I amble toward the gate. In the distance, a band is playing what I’m pretty sure is a John Philip Sousa march.

  Most of my travel today will be on foot. Aside from the wig and the weird sensation of having a small mountain of stomach, the pregnancy costume is one of the more comfortable options I’ve worn for fieldwork. My initial plan is to walk around the edges of the Court of Peace and see if I can get a better sense for where the bomb might be hidden.

  Clio will, in fact, be doing more actual time travel than any of us, since she’s the liaison between 1940 and 2136. Her job is to watch the stable points at the Court of Peace and the Flushing Gate, which is where the bomb was taken to try and disable it in the other timeline.

  Because we’re fairly certain that today’s bombing is not one of Team Viper’s official moves, Rich and Tyson have already jumped to the Amusement Zone on the evening of September 12, 1939. They will intercept Tomonaga and his friend inside the Theater of Time and Space and divert them away from the location where they would be mugged, either by persuasion or force. Hopefully, they’ll also be able to convince them to ignore anyone who contacts them with nuclear information. Rich and Tyson will then go back to June 2, 1939, and foil the attempt against the Japanese ambassador.

  Madi will then proceed with our last official move by waylaying Einstein at the train station and explaining why he should go ahead with an action that will result in the US using nuclear weapons. Once that move is in the system, the timeline will, hopefully, flip. It’s entirely possible that it will flip after one of our other moves. At that point, assuming the deaths at the Bund rally still happen, Tyson will go back to prevent the fake explosion that causes them and also the attack on Lindbergh the following year.

  Assuming everything goes according to plan, we’ll still have to deal with the mess Saul has made. And worry about when Team Viper will hit next, because after Saul’s stupid decision to murder two observers, there’s no way they’ll take their win (or, if we’re lucky, loss) and move on to the next universe. They’ll be looking for revenge.

  I turn onto the avenue that curves around the fountains, and make my way at a leisurely pace through the foreign-government exhibits, keeping an eye out for police among the hundreds of people lining the sidewalks, since I will probably need to alert them to the presence of a bomb in the next few minutes. Two officers are standing outside the Netherlands Pavilion, talking to a third officer behind the wheel of the only convertible police car I’ve ever seen, with the Trylon and Perisphere logo on the side. Maybe the vehicle was in the parade that ended about an hour ago.

  I continue on toward the Court of Peace. Unlike the garden area I just left, this place is mostly concrete. There are bushes lining the fence that separates the wide walkway from the massive oval Lagoon of Nations, presumably to keep fairgoers from diving into the fountains. The Court of Peace itself, however, is relatively barren of anything aside from folding chairs, most of them occupied by people listening to the military band, which has now shifted to “God Bless America.”

  The suitcase that we pointed the police toward earlier was in one of the few clusters of greenery large enough to hide it, along the southern edge of the court. My best guess, based on viewing the stable points and the blast radius, is that a second case is hidden farther into the bushes. As I draw closer, however, I see that my perspective was limited. The greenery surrounding the trees that dot the perimeter of the court is sparser than it appeared at a distance. That’s probably why the police had no trouble finding the decoy case. It would have been clearly visible from the sidewalk.

  A second suitcase bomb would also be visible, and I don’t see anything large enough to do the kind of damage I saw through the key. Given that the purpose of this area is to accommodate large numbers of people for everything from presidential speeches to equestrian events, it’s an open space. Looking out at the veritable ocean of chairs, I say a prayer that the bomb isn’t tucked beneath one of them. That would be unlikely for a bomb from this era, as it would be too large, but now that Saul is involved, who’s to say what we’re dealing with? It could be something made centuries from now. The only things dotting the concrete slab, other than chairs and people, are speakers mounted on tall poles, a few pedestrian benches, and the occasional light post.

  And . . . trash cans. Three of them within the blast zone. There are still two hours until the thing goes off, so I make a quick tour of those three bins. Nothing in the first one. There appears to be nothing in the second, either. But then I see it. Beneath the wadded newspaper is a large, circular hatbox. Not the flimsy cardboard type, but the old-fashioned kind that women used for foreign travel and definitely not the sort of thing that would be casually discarded.

  I turn back toward the Netherlands building to fetch the police. Two young men in silver shirts with the Universal Front logo on the left side each grab one of my arms. I cry out, yelling for someone to call the police. Several people jump up from the crowd and move toward me, but they step back when they see three officers who are, in fact, heading straight toward us at a rapid clip.

  Morgen Campbell, the younger, who is clearly not used to running, brings up the rear. “That’s her,” he says, panting. “I saw her put a round . . . suitcase . . . thing in that trash can after the parade, when everyone was finding a seat. I thought it looked suspicious. I asked her what she was doing, and she told me I’d better get out of her way or she’d blow me clear to hell.”

  He leans forward and puts both hands on his knees as if he’s catching his breath, but it’s mostly just a cover so that he can give me a sly smile.

  “There is a hatbox in the bin,” I say through gritted teeth. “But I didn’t put it there. I thought I heard a noise when I walked past. So I checked. It’s very faint. I didn’t want to touch it, so I was going to find someone to come investigate.”

  “I don’t hear anything coming from the trash, ma’am,” the older cop says. “In fact, I can barely hear you over the band.”

  “She’s lying,” Morge
n says. “And she might even have an explosive in whatever that is she’s got strapped beneath that dress. I can look at the way she walks and tell you that she’s not pregnant. My mother’s an ob-gyn, and—”

  “An oh-bee . . . what?” the second officer asks.

  “A lady-parts doctor,” Morgen says. “That’s what we call them in Virginia.”

  “Where you want us to take her?” the Silver Shirt on my right asks, squeezing my arm a bit tighter.

  “You ain’t takin’ her anywhere, son,” the first officer says. “We’ve got it from here. I thought you tin-soldier Nazis were protesting the Fair.”

  Silver Shirt #2 exchanges a look with his counterpart, then says, “Well, if we let her go, you gotta grab her arms, then. She’s dangerous.”

  That cracks two of the officers up. The other one is too busy looking into the trash to pay attention. “Take both of them to the station so we can sort this out. Get Alice to search her. I don’t know what the hell either of them is talking about. There’s nothing in this trash can except hamburger wrappers and several months’ worth of chewed bubble gum stuck to the side.”

  Morgen takes a couple of steps back toward the sidewalk. He’s looking straight at me when he blinks out. The Silver Shirts both see him, and the taller one says, “Where did he go?” They’re well trained, though, because neither of them lets go of my arms.

  “Hey, the kid’s got a point. Where did he go?” one of the junior cops asks. Several people in the audience who were watching seem to be wondering the same thing.

  The older cop scans the crowd, then looks back at me. “Looks like your friend is a regular Houdini, ma’am. He got lucky. You . . . not so much. We’re gettin’ a bit tired of the bomb-threat games, though, so you’re gonna need to answer a few questions. Come on.”

  I’m escorted back to the convertible police car in front of the Netherlands Pavilion. They don’t cuff me but keep an eye on me as I’m ushered into the back seat along with the senior officer.

  “Your friend back there is faster than he looks,” the officer says.

  “He’s not my friend,” I say with a tight smile and stare out at the fairgrounds. Personally, I’m much more concerned about where the bomb went than about Morgen. And I’ve got too much to do to waste time on this detour.

  Clio is monitoring all of our stable points, so hopefully she’ll pass the word along that I’ve run into difficulty. One option would be to pull out the CHRONOS key and try my praying-to-St.-Eligius routine, but disappearing right in front of three policemen and dozens of people lining the streets—in broad daylight, no less—goes against everything I’ve been taught. It might also convince the cop next to me, who seems like the suspicious type, to put the cuffs on me. And so I bide my time as we inch our way across the fairgrounds to the World’s Fair Police Station just beyond the main gates. If I play it cool, maybe I’ll still have my hands free so that I can blink out quickly when they turn me over to a policewoman to be searched.

  In the end, however, none of that is necessary. When we arrive at the station, Saul is waiting at the counter. “Oh my God, Kathy! There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere.”

  The woman behind the desk gives me a smile that is sympathetic, but still somewhat wary. “Mrs. Rand, you’ve given your husband here quite the scare.” She looks over at the older cop and discreetly taps her temple while pretending to smooth her hair. Great. Saul has told her that I’m insane. And, unfortunately, what I’m about to say next will probably reinforce that.

  “Go ahead and toss me in jail,” I tell her. “I’m not leaving with him.”

  Saul sighs. “Will you at least talk to me, love? Over there on the bench, where all of the officers can see, but we’ll have some privacy. No one wants to put you in jail. And I’m certainly not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.” He crouches down so that his eyes are level with mine as he speaks, and I can tell that he intends those last words not simply for show, but as a plea. I reach up for the chain inside the bodice of my dress and tug it out.

  He sighs again with an extra touch of drama. “Yes, dear. You can hold your mother’s locket while we talk. But you don’t need magic tokens to keep you and . . . the baby . . . safe from me.”

  Saul pauses when he mentions the baby, staring down at my abdomen with a look of deep sorrow. And I know instantly what he told them. Losing the baby unhinged me. Did he simply say that I’ve taken to faking the pregnancy? Or did he add that I keep thinking I hear the baby for added pathos?

  The whole act is smarmy, obnoxious, and overplayed, but apparently, I’m the only one who notices. So I nod and follow him to the bench.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he asks under his breath. “By my calculations, you only have a few hours left. We don’t have time for silly games.”

  “No kidding,” I hiss. “What happened to the bomb?”

  “I took care of it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I blinked back to two a.m., extracted it from the damn trash can, and returned it to where it was in the previous timeline. You know . . . the one we’re trying to get back to? And I could have told you that if you’d met me as agreed. I’m going to take a wild guess and say that you and the others found the message I left for Morgen, and you don’t approve of me breaking the rules. But, in case you’ve forgotten, Kathy, I’m the expert at Temporal Dilemma. And this isn’t a game for us. This is a goddamn war.”

  The words are so close to what Kiernan Dunne said back at the apartment that they take me off guard. And thinking of Kiernan pulls up the memory of his face as he told me about Saul’s supposed test run at God’s Hollow. Supposed? Damn it, I’m doing exactly what Kiernan warned me against. I need to keep emotions out of the equation when it comes to Saul, and I’m sitting here, letting him talk to me. Letting him try to justify the murder of the two observers. That thought must wipe the angry look from my face, but Saul misreads my revulsion as something else.

  “Yes! It’s war. There are casualties in war. I’m trying to minimize those casualties. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t play by Morgen Campbell’s rules. I had to send him a strong message. Shock value. And I needed something that would get your attention, too, when you didn’t show up as promised. So . . . since you saw what I left for Team Viper, did you at least pass the message along to Max’s physicist friend?”

  That comment baffles me. “Yes. He knows you killed their observers. But why does it matter whether he knows?”

  Saul rolls his eyes. “No. The message. 27V. I don’t know what it means, but I’ve had several . . . conversations with two of his jumpers who thought I was working for them. Their Esther said something about a drink they have in 27V. And I don’t think she was talking about a bar. You said he’s trying to find a way to block their signal or whatever, but he’s not sure which universe they’re coming from, remember? It might not be of any use at all. I doubt the realities are conveniently labeled. But maybe it will narrow down something.” He glances over at the policewoman and smiles. “Can we just go now? Tell the nice lady you’re sorry and that you’ve been really mixed up since the accident. That’s all you need to say, and I promise you they’ll let you walk out of here with me.”

  He’s right. Of course. There are tears in the policewoman’s eyes, and she tells me to take care and that I’m lucky to have such a kind and devoted husband. The one male officer behind the desk gives me an uncomfortable smile and quickly turns back to his paperwork. Saul takes my arm, and it requires all of my self-control not to run when his fingers brush against the bare skin of my elbow.

  As soon as we round the corner of the building, I tell him I need to go. “The clue in your note. I don’t think Max’s friend got it. Plus, I need to let them know that the bomb is taken care of.”

  “Okay,” he says. “But will you promise to meet me in Miami later so that I can explain everything? I’m trying to buy us some time. Until we’re at the point where we can block them, we nee
d to let them know that this world is not safe for their games. Our timeline does not belong to them.”

  “But what’s to stop them from jumping back further, Saul? From sending dozens of people into our history and completely destroying us? You seem to think you can reason with Morgen—”

  “No,” he says. “You’re missing the entire point. What’s the fun of playing time chess in a world where there are no constants? Any move they make, I will top it. If we make the field unplayable and risky, if we take the fun out of their game, they’ll go away.”

  “Except the playing field is our history, Saul. The risk isn’t just to them.”

  “Oh, come on, Kathy! Do you really think we couldn’t do better? No matter what the CHRONOS manual says, history isn’t sacred, and it sure as hell isn’t spotless. You know that. Race continues to divide people for centuries. How long did it take for women to get real equality? Look around at these cars. These people are killing the planet and don’t know it . . . But even once they do know it, they won’t stop. People make shit decisions as a group unless they are led with a strong hand. And we could do that through the Cyrists. I’ve already laid the groundwork.”

  He’s making arguments that he knows will appeal to me. Equality. Protecting the environment. Arguments that I’m not even entirely sure he believes. I close my eyes for a long moment, and when I open them, I paste on a smile. “Maybe you’re right. We didn’t break the timeline. And there’s no rule that says we can’t make a better version as we right this wrong. I’m going to help them finish out the game. See if we can get the timeline to flip. But . . . we don’t need to go back to CHRONOS after that, assuming it even exists. I’ll meet you at your place in Miami, and we can figure out our next steps.”

  He smiles back. “That sounds like an excellent plan.” Then he tips my face up to kiss me.

  I slip my hand into my pocket and close it around the laser pen inside the pillow. Flicking the safety off, I pull it out into my pocket, and point it toward Saul’s chest. An insane man with a deeply flawed moral code is dangerous enough. That same man with a time-travel device in his hands could be unstoppable.

 

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