by E W Barnes
“Please keep your hands and feet inside the car at all times,” Richard intoned.
Anna shrugged and didn’t answer. Instead, she spoke to Yorga again.
“Is she available?”
“She is, and she’s waiting for you. At the top of the stairs and to the right,” Yorga said, pointing the way to the executive offices.
“Now, what to do with you two?” Yorga sneered as Anna left them.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
2204 - The Chestnut Covin
At Yorga’s direction, the guards separated Sharon and Richard. Richard went willingly, babbling cheerily to the guards about the beautiful garden and inviting them to tea. Sharon went less willingly, straining to watch Richard for as long as she could before they escorted her into a room in the training hall, possibly the same room Yorga imprisoned Sharon and Caelen in the “Email Timeline.” But now Sharon was very much alone.
Sharon didn’t know what had gone wrong. What year was this? Had they shifted into another timeline where the TPC no longer existed? Or had something else happened? Whatever the explanation, Richard’s plan had failed. Now they could never go back in time to prevent the virus in the temporal mainframe and stop the invasion from the parallel earth. All was lost.
There were muffled sounds in the hallway outside. The door opened and Jonas Fernley stepped in.
Sharon recoiled. The last time they’d seen each other, he’d viciously turned on her, ending their friendship and betraying the TPC for the Chestnut Covin.
“Your presence is required,” he said without feeling and without meeting her eye.
Sharon followed him mutely and did not try to talk to him, though he no longer radiated anger as he had the last time. He led her to the end of the training hall to a meeting room and made eye contact with her once before leaving.
From one cold, empty room to another, Sharon thought as she looked around her latest environment. Maybe it was a new kind of torture, changing rooms for no reason until the prisoner broke from repetition. Her sarcastic bravado did not fool her, but it helped a little.
This room, she realized, was the same conference room Director Veta held Sharon’s debrief following her first time-travel adventure with Caelen. Caelen, she thought with sadness. She’d not gotten the chance to tell Caelen the truth about that timeline, and now it looked as if she never would.
The door opened. Sharon turned expecting to see Jonas or Yorga again, but it was neither. It was Anna. Except it wasn’t Anna. Perhaps it was reliving the recollections of her first time-travel experience which triggered the memory. Sharon now knew where she’d seen her before.
“You’re Natalya Ivanova, the Russian translator from London in 1940!” Sharon blurted in astonishment. “But that was another timeline. How could you be here?”
Anna smiled a smile that did not reach her eyes.
“You are almost correct. We have not met before. I am not from the alternate timeline, I’m from the parallel earth you visited.”
“I don’t understand,” Sharon muttered.
“You will,” a voice said as the door opened again.
Another Anna walked in; a woman identical to the one Sharon was speaking to. The second Anna sat down next to the first. They were indistinguishable from each other except for their clothing. The woman Sharon had known as Anna still wore the grey uniform of the Soviet Science Division on the parallel earth. Her twin was more casually dressed, and Sharon would have passed her on the street without a second glance in the 21st century.
“It’s been a long time since London,” the second woman said.
“You’re the Natalya Ivanova I met in 1940,” Sharon said. The woman nodded.
“Yes, I was Mr. Petronov’s translator then,” she replied.
“And you worked for Soviet intelligence,” Sharon responded.
“I did yes, but not anymore. The Soviet Union is long gone, as you know, and I’d already started down another path when it met its demise.”
“You joined the Chestnut Covin,” Sharon said, wondering just how far the organization’s tentacles reached.
“I am the Chestnut Covin,” she answered. “I am called Natalie Johnson now, and I’m the leader of the Chestnut Covin.”
“No, that’s impossible,” Sharon breathed.
“I assure you; it is not only possible, it is the truth.”
“How can you be here now, almost 300 years later from a timeline that no longer exists?” Sharon closed her eyes. Her head was aching.
“The same way as you are here now,” Natalie answered. “By means of a time travel device.”
“We need to get information from this subject, not give it,” Anna chided.
“That’s what I’m doing,” Natalie replied in a measured voice as if Sharon were not there. “By giving her information I create a false trust, resulting in reciprocity and sharing of information we need. She desperately wants answers. I can get intelligence we need in exchange for answering her questions.”
“We can accomplish the same thing with interrogation,” Anna pointed out.
“And we will,” Natalie smiled at her companion. “If she does not cooperate, we have those extremely useful tools as a fallback.”
“Very well,” Anna said stiffly.
“Now that that’s settled,” Natalie said pleasantly, as if they had been discussing what side dishes to serve with their evening meal instead of how to torture information out of Sharon. “The evening after we met in that stodgy bureaucrat’s office in London, a bomb fell,” Natalie said and then laughed. “Many bombs fell that night, but this one landed right outside that stuffy office and killed two people.”
Sharon didn’t respond. She remembered the night and the bomb vividly.
“The two victims happened to have attended the same meeting earlier that day. More startling,” she added as she cupped her chin in her hand. “Was that one of them had offered my comrade and myself classified information about German plans to invade the Soviet Union.” She nodded when Sharon didn’t answer, assuming correctly that Sharon already knew of the classified information that had been offered.
“But it was that which was found with the second victim that changed everything. She had in her possession technology unlike anything seen before. Even as badly damaged as it was, it was so advanced that the best scientists of the time found it difficult to understand.”
Sharon knew it was her phone from 2022 that was found after the bombing in 1940. She thought it had been destroyed. Still, she said nothing.
“As I understand it, British intelligence in the guise of police officers tried to interview two people who were seen fleeing from the site of the bombing… but before questions could be asked, they vanished right in front of the officers’ eyes.”
Sharon looked uncomfortable. She’d hated leaving the British government with the mystery of hers and Caelen’s disappearance in the middle of the Blitz, but they’d had no choice. Now it appeared it had been worse than she’d guessed.
“Reports of these events reached our office within hours,” Natalie continued. “I was dispatched to procure the technology. The British government could not very well complain about the disappearance of something they did not understand what it was.
“It was only a matter of time, to coin a phrase, before I put it all together. The man with the classified documents that no one should have seen. The mysterious disappearance of two Americans who, as far as the U.S. government was concerned, did not exist. The strange technology that our scientists recognized as so advanced it might have come from another planet; but I knew it could only be from the future. It all added up to time travel.”
She laughed. “At first I thought the time travel device was some invention of the Americans. You can imagine the paroxysms of fear that resonated through the ranks of Soviet intelligence at the thought of the Americans with the ability to change the past. But we could find no evidence of time travel or even of a project that could have been a cover for time trav
el. All our spies, even our most highly placed moles, found nothing. It was then that I realized the time travelers must have also come from the future, not just the technology. My only lead was the last person at the meeting not already accounted for.”
“Lloyd Quill,” Sharon muttered.
“Indeed,” Natalie nodded. “The Canadian who was not Canadian. After the bombing Mr. Quill was called in to identify the body of his countryman. We picked him up outside the morgue. It was from him I learned all about time travel.”
“I still don’t understand how that could be possible,” Sharon said. “That timeline was erased. Lloyd Quill never went to prison, never joined the Chestnut Covin. Rose and Kevin were not killed in a bombing in London, they lived to old age.”
“All evidence to the contrary, eh, Sharon? Of course it’s possible—the temporal amplifier protects against paradox.” Natalie smiled without warmth. Her eyes were icy.
“Mr. Quill was very willing to share what he knew. From him I learned everything about time travel. He brought me with him to the future. And once there, I was insulated from the changes in the timeline that you initiated.”
She sighed. “Unfortunately, Mr. Quill was not so lucky. He was still in 1933 when you changed the timeline and we lost him. I arrived in time to retrieve the painting I desired, but I could not save him.”
Sharon’s heart stopped beating. “It was you,” she breathed. “You were the one in the dining room watching me when I shifted back from 1933.”
“Hm, yes.” Natalie said. All politeness vanished. “Now, it is your turn. You will tell us everything you have learned about the Chestnut Covin, about the future, the past, the parallel earth, and about this fold space between worlds and how you escaped it.”
Sharon shook her head. “I’m sorry, no. This is where reciprocity ends,” she said. “I won’t cooperate with you and I won’t tell you anything.”
Natalie and Anna stood at the same time. Identical pairs of eyes bored into her, distant, cold, and calculating.
“Then we must use more unpleasant measures, as you suggested, Anna,” Natalie smiled at her counterpart. Anna did not smile back. Her face communicated that she considered the attempt at conversation a waste of time and that she should have led the interrogation from the beginning. But all she said was: “Of course.”
“First, interrogate the other one, Richard, the one with the temporal aberration disorder. That could be amusing and give us information to use with this one.”
Natalie Johnson opened the door and nodded to Yorga Zintel waiting in the hall.
“Yaz, see that she’s placed in Interrogation Room Two while we work in Interrogation Room One.”
Interrogation Room Two was the mirror image of the room she’d been in previously which, Sharon realized with a chill, was what they called Interrogation Room One.
There was no chair, just four blank walls and the door. She paced from one side to the other. It took five strides to reach the wall and five strides back. She lost count after 5000 strides and was just sitting down with her back against the wall when she heard a low moan.
She froze, listening. Just when she decided she had imagined it, there was another moan, followed by a cry. The cry formed into words, some she understood, others she did not.
Please and no, don’t were the words she heard most frequently. The pleading and screaming grew in volume and intensity. Then it would stop, and Sharon thought she heard sobbing. Sharon wrapped her arms around her legs and rocked back and forth, eyes wide.
Hours passed. The room grew dark. The screams died down and Sharon dozed a little until they started again. Sometimes it sounded like a man and Sharon imagined Richard being tormented by Anna and by his own delusions.
Other times it sounded like a woman and Sharon wondered who else they were tormenting and to what purpose? Part of her was relieved she was not the one being tortured. Part of her felt guilty about being glad it was not her. But mostly she was terrified that her turn would arrive soon.
Surely it had been days. She checked the door over and over, but it remained firmly locked. The door felt like metal—there would be no kicking or breaking it to get out. No one brought food or water. There was no place to relieve herself and she picked a corner and tried to ignore the smell afterwards. She was forgotten. She banged on the door, calling out, and then feared that if someone came, it would be her turn to be interrogated next.
She was almost delirious when the door finally opened. It was her turn. The waiting was over. They would interrogate her now. She lurched to the door on her hands and knees, eager to leave.
Yorga stood in the doorway, her nose wrinkling at the smell. She had a bundle in her hand and a female security guard stood over her shoulder. She threw the bundle into the room.
“Help her clean up,” she said, waiting while the guard stood Sharon up and helped her change her clothes.
“Burn that,” Yorga said to the guard as she carried out the stolen uniform from the parallel earth, now soiled from days of living in it.
“Come with me,” Yorga commanded Sharon.
Sharon complied, stumbling out into the corridor. The air was fresh here and Sharon saw the green of the grounds through windows at the other end of the hall. She’d almost forgotten how beautiful the color green was.
Yorga was not in a patient mood. “Hurry up!” she snapped as Sharon struggled to keep up with Yorga’s pace.
Sharon was confused—they were not heading toward Interrogation Room One as she’d expected. Her confusion doubled when Yorga opened a door leading to the grounds and indicated Sharon should go outside. Sharon hesitated.
“What are you waiting for? Move it or I’ll have the guard move you,” Yorga snarled.
The fresh smell of growing plants was invigorating. Sharon took a deep breath. Yorga snorted and rolled her eyes.
“This way.”
Yorga led her to a small clearing where a table was set with food and drink. Wordlessly Yorga pointed to it and Sharon did not need a second invitation. She began eating the fruit and cheese and drinking the water provided. Yorga sat on the other side of the table at the end so she would not be directly across from Sharon.
“Why?” Sharon asked, her mouth still partially full of food.
Yorga rolled her eyes again. “It wasn’t my idea.”
“Natalie Johnson,” Sharon said.
“She thinks that after days of deprivation this kindness will make you more cooperative, more willing to talk.”
“And Anna?” Sharon asked.
“She thinks we should kill you and be done with it. I agree with her, in case you were wondering.”
“Nice,” Sharon muttered into her food.
“Nice never got anyone anywhere,” Yorga responded. “Director Veta was nice, but she lost the TPC. Abandoned it like a coward. And now it belongs to us.”
“Back in your fancy office again, Yaz?” Sharon’s tone was sarcastic but Yorga did not seem to hear it. A thrill ran through Sharon. This was 2204 or close to it, Sharon realized. How could that help? She racked her brain.
“I missed the view of the grounds,” Yorga said looking off into the distance toward a bamboo grove. “I never understood why Director Veta chose the office she did.”
“She chose that view because she believed in the people of the TPC. You betrayed everyone and everything for a nice view.”
“To be the director of the TPC,” Yorga corrected her. “A TPC without ridiculous limitations which will benefit everyone.”
“How does this new and improved TPC benefit anyone but the Chestnut Covin?”
“The benefits we derive will trickle down to everyone else.”
“Oh, please,” Sharon said. “I’ve heard that line before. But what’s the point of crowning yourself the director of the TPC if the temporal mainframe is infected by a virus and the temporal nexus is out of commission?”
Yorga smirked at her and rolled her eyes again.
“Unless you have
a way around that,” Sharon said slowly. “You’re the one who planted the virus and you have a way to eradicate it, don’t you, Yaz?”
Yorga spoke softly in a deadly voice. “I tolerate that nickname from Natalie. But not from you, understand?”
Yorga looked up over Sharon’s head, as if she could see through the to the CERN facilities above them.
“Natalie thinks you’re soft, malleable like the Americans she knew in the 20th century. When you discovered the ‘Email Timeline’ as you call it, she thought ordering the President to investigate you would make you retreat, like a good-rule follower. It’s a strategic weakness. I think you’re hard, unyielding like the layers of rock over our heads. It makes you inflexible and unchangeable. And it means you won’t cooperate.”
She looked at Sharon again.
“Infiltration and sabotage are much better tools to achieving our goals than an interrogation of a prisoner we can never trust. I would rather place my faith in our mole among the stalwart TPC staff up there, than in anything you’ll ever tell us. Natalie doesn’t see that, but Anna does. And I have faith that Anna will bring Natalie around to our point of view soon.”
“You talk of faith,” Sharon said softly. “But to have faith you have to believe in something.”
“Oh, I do,” Yorga answered smugly. “I believe in me.”
“Excuse me, Director?” a voice said. Yorga looked up, annoyance written across her features.
“What do you want?” she said to the figure which stepped out of the shadow of a pine tree. It was Jonas. He did not look at Sharon.
“Ms. Johnson and Ms. Ivanova have requested your presence for a meeting,” he said.
“But I’m not finished here,” Yorga growled.
“I can stay and guard the prisoner,” Jonas answered with a glance toward Sharon.
“Right,” Yorga snorted. “I know how you used to feel about her. You think I’ll trust you alone with her? What if you relapse?”
“How I felt about her is irrelevant,” Jonas said stiffly, almost hiding his humiliation. “There are two guards on the grounds watching the other one. All the exits are sealed. They can’t escape. Between the three of us, it’s unlikely they can cause any trouble.”