What the Moon Saw

by D. L. Koontz

  “The place is crude,” Davis smirked, assessing the structure, “but we didn’t think it wise to celebrate in a public setting.” He turned to Libby. “So good to see you. Sorry you haven’t been able to reach me. Been busy with work.” He gestured toward the other man. “Where are my manners, I don’t think you’ve met Zachary Hayes.”

  “How do you do?” Libby smiled, and it was genuine. She recognized the name as a fellow traveler from the future, arriving in 1922. Davis had mentioned him in the cave. There was a certain comfort in meeting more birds of a feather, even if the circumstances were confounding.

  “Zach,” the man offered with a nod, but otherwise didn’t move. He was unshaven, mid-thirties, with a wide brow and deep-set eyes that were heavily lashed and looked gray in the shadowed room. He wore casual clothing too, with a dark wax jacket, boots made of leather, and a Stetson hat. Controlled and ruggedly good-looking, Libby decided, but aloof, with a demeanor that suggested every expense of energy was deliberate, every moment watchful, and that he preferred being in the background.

  She turned to Davis. “Andrew just got back. How did you know he was here?” And why were you in the area without contacting me, and what do you know about Matryoshka?

  Davis’s brow rose for an instant and his gaze flicked to Zach and back, but he chuckled heartily. This animated, jovial Davis was unfamiliar to her. “Worked out well, didn’t it? Zach happened to be back in the area to replenish with the water. Saw Andrew by accident this morning. Isn’t that right, Zach?”

  A muscle ticked in Zach’s jaw before his lips twitched into a half-smile, looking as loathe to don it as he might a clown outfit. When he spoke, however, his voice was encouraging. “We were afraid you’d leave before we could see you, Andrew. To thank you, of course.”

  Davis clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “How about some cake? Then we’ll talk. Get caught up.”

  In the brief silence that followed as Davis cut and dished pieces of cake onto the metal plates, Libby spread their blankets over the top of the dusty benches and said, “It was nice of N.C. to help with the surprise. I didn’t know you knew him.” She didn’t bother mentioning Rose because had the girl known she wouldn’t have been able to keep it secret. After collecting her cake, Libby followed Andrew to a bench and sat beside him, opposite where Davis and Zach plunked down, before sampling the rich dessert. Zach removed his hat and placed it on the bench. Libby noticed his hair was longish for the timeframe and pulled together with a thin black leather cord. Davis had described Zach as a cowboy who didn’t care about fashion.

  “I met Deputy Smith on one of my trips here,” Davis said. “About a year ago.”

  “He’s a deputy?” Andrew glowered, looking up from his plate at Libby. His cake was untouched. “You didn’t mention.”

  She winced at the whisper of annoyance in his tone, but kept her response light. “It never came up. Besides, it doesn’t matter.” Her chest tightened. He looked at her as if she had purposely deceived him, and she sensed there was a storm brewing in him. Or, was it her imagination?

  Davis smiled again. “She’s right. It’s of no importance. What matters is we’re all here now. A reunion of sorts. Safe and sound, and,” his smile grew. “Might I add healthier, thanks to Andrew? If it hadn’t been for his intervention and that doctor’s confirmation...what was his name?”

  “Dr. Kuzmich,” Libby said, and took another bite of cake.

  “That’s it. Kuzmich. I knew it was of Russian origin.” Davis took a swig of lemonade. “Good man, too. I was lucky he could drop everything to see me.” He took another bite of cake then quickly pulled his shoulders back as though he had a thought. “Come to think of it, wasn’t he the doctor you saw, too, Zachary?”

  “That’s right,” Zach drawled.

  Davis looked at Libby. “And you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Isn’t that odd? We all three saw the same doctor. And, we all three had no time to get a second opinion.”

  Andrew stiffened and sat his plate to the right on the bench, never breaking eye contact with Davis. He still had not touched his cake.

  Libby had been about to take another bite, but instead lowered her hand to her plate. Where was Davis going with this? And, why was a disturbing, new energy emanating from Andrew?

  “You know, come to think of it,” Davis said, jabbing his fork into the air, “as I recall, there was another similarity as well. Zach and I both worked on the Matryoshka Project. What about you, Libby?”

  She froze and, sensing Andrew had done the same, slowly dragged her gaze to him. He wore a sneer as thin and threatening as the edge of a sharp blade and his eyes were narrowed, glaring at Davis as if he wished he could kill him with a look. She steered her gaze back to Davis and saw the glare mirrored there.

  With shaky hands, she set her plate to her left. She pressed the flat of her hands against her thighs to still them.

  “Well, Libby?” Davis persisted. His voice, so jaunty an instant before, was suddenly curt, almost demanding. “Were you involved on the Matryoshka Project?”

  She nodded, then said a meek, “Yes, I was.” She shuddered and clasped her hands into her lap. They were so cold. “Interpreting. That’s all. I had to leave the project undone, because of...my health.” She swallowed again, each time harder. Her mouth was so dry.

  When no one said anything, Libby’s unease propelled her to continue. “I know Matryoshka means nesting dolls, but I have no idea what it had to do with the investigation. I...I thought it involved a mole in the bureau, but,” her voice grew hoarse, “I wasn’t briefed on it fully.”

  “That’s right,” Zach said, shifting his gaze from her to Andrew. “A mole. An infiltrator. Someone with layers within layers.” The look in his eyes was as intense as the firmness of his jaw, and revealed a kind of remoteness or disdain.

  Davis cocked his head. “Remove one and underneath you find the same thing again and again.” He set his empty plate on the ground. “Isn’t that right, Andrew?”

  When Andrew didn’t respond, Davis continued. “Or, should we call you Andreii?”

  “What?” Libby startled. She looked at Andrew again, then back at Davis. “What are you talking about?” She turned to her husband. “Andrew?”

  His chin was high, his nostrils flared. Caught. Cornered. Furious.

  Libby put a hand over her mouth as though to hold in a dawning realization. Her hand shook as it fell back to her lap. “Is that why you were so insistent we meet that night? You knew I was listening to the Matryoshka tapes. You thought I might learn something damaging?”

  His eyebrows flicked up and down quickly in that quirky way she remembered. That way in which his body betrayed him by reacting to information he didn’t like.

  Andrew ignored her, and spoke to Davis. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

  Davis studied him. In a loud voice, but still with his gaze locked on Andrew, he said, “Heard enough, Sheriff?”

  From the alcove area Libby heard the sound of a match being struck. She turned to see hands light the wick of another lantern. When the flame grew to cast a wide oval, Brogan’s face came into view. For the briefest moment, her heart skittered.

  Brogan loomed large in the light, his jaw set firm in unyielding lines, his height exaggerated by the dark shadows. In smooth strides, he moved to the group, his gaze, like Davis’s and Zach’s, never leaving Andrew. “That’s him. Andreii Grebenshchikov. The man who shot Morning Meadow...Libby. Four years later, he did the same to me. Left me to die.”

  Shocked, Libby touched her scar. Is that how she got it? She tried to form an image of Andrew carrying out these murderous deeds. She looked at him, desperate for him to deny everything, but afraid of the answer. “Andrew...?”

  He flexed a hand into a fist and looked back at her with such contempt it made her heart race. Restrained fury. He wanted to kill someone, or perhaps everyone in the room. She could see it in his eyes. And in that in
stant a new memory streaked into her mind with the speed and roar of a locomotive. She braced herself against falling by gripping the splintered bench beneath the slight overhang of the blanket. “I remember now. I was ten. 1759.” She spoke at Andrew. “You came to talk to my father.” Her words emerged slowly, in synch with her unfolding memory. “About a tract of land in his possession. I was hiding behind our wagon. I heard the conversation. You rode away, but left very angry, vowing to come back.”

  A heinous sneer contorted the lines of his lips. Smugness laced his voice when he said, “And the next year I did.”

  Her body quivered with indignation. “Yes, you did.” And killed my entire family. She wanted to reach out and slap him across the face, but she couldn’t get her hands to move. She composed herself. Licked her dry lips. “Why?”

  “I can answer that,” Brogan said, moving the edge of an empty bench to angle it perpendicular to where the others sat. “Land. Power. Wealth. Delusions of grandeur. Take your pick.” He sank his muscled length onto the bench. “But I’m not the one who can answer that best.” His gaze moved to Davis. Libby watched the two men hold a conversation without even saying a word.

  “Then who?” Libby asked. “What’s going on?”

  Davis leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. “This afternoon Zach and I paid a call on Sheriff Harrow. Set some wheels in motion. Then, about an hour ago we introduced him to a young woman that was able to put the puzzle pieces together. She first appeared to us a few weeks ago.” Davis extended his hand to touch Libby’s arm, a gesture of concern, but his tone carried a forewarning, the way dogs’ ears jerk back before they leap. “Libby, Colette is here.”

  As Andrew cursed, Libby blinked. “Colette? My roommate? Here?”

  Before Libby could digest her astonishment, she heard a familiar voice from the back.

  “Hey, Libs.”

  Libby stood and swirled to see her roommate walk forward, out of the darkness. “Sorry, roomie,” Colette said, “we didn’t know how to spring me on you. We were afraid—”

  Andrew seized on the distraction, jumping to his feet and leaping forward to apply a full head slam into Brogan’s body, knocking him backward. They fell to the ground, arms and legs tussling.

  In a flash Zach was on Andrew, yanking him to his feet, pushing him into a spin, then slamming his fist into Andrew’s jaw, and another into his gut.

  Andrew fell to his knees, but held himself upright with the aid of a bench. He slowly wiped his bloody lip with the back of his hand. After several gulps of air, he climbed to his feet. In one step, Brogan was beside him, placing the barrel of a pistol snug into his right jawbone. “Give me a reason.”

  Breathing heavily, Andrew attempted to regain his cavalier bravado by straightening his shirt collar and brushing at his sleeves as if he’d been touched by something unclean. His darting gaze suggested he wanted to ignore Brogan’s warning. Depravity searching for an escape route.

  Brogan put his free hand on Andrew’s shoulder and pressed him down onto the bench. He circled behind Andrew and yanked his hands behind him. The click of handcuffs sounded.

  After the scuffle and while the four men secured Andrew and brought their composure and the seating back to normal, Libby noticed Colette’s wide eyes tracking Zach’s movements. Libby murmured, “He’s so...intimidating.”

  Colette pulled Libby into an embrace and murmured, “I know. Isn’t he hot?”

  When she pulled back, Colette wore an unabashed grin, leaving Libby flummoxed.

  Could this evening get any more surreal?

  Brogan holstered his gun into a leather sling stretched perpendicular across his chest and under his jacket. He folded onto a bench to the left of Zach, raked tousled hair from his forehead with a thrust, and fastened an ice-blue stare on Andrew, locking gazes like sabers.

  Davis cleared his throat. “Thank you, Andrew, for that confirmation.” He sat also. “Ladies, please take a seat and let’s see what we can piece together.”

  Libby sat beside Colette. “Wait, Davis...” She held up a stopping hand, then rubbed her temples, trying to understand it all. “First, is there anyone else back there? Any other surprises?”

  “No.”

  She looked at Colette. “How long have you been here?”

  “Three weeks. But, I had been following Andrew for a long time. After I saw him take the water, I did the same.”

  “But how?” Libby asked, incredulous. “You weren’t even ill.”

  Davis grunted. “You weren’t either, Libby. Brogan was the only one of us who went into the water physically impaired.”

  She shook her head. “But...I was dying.” She looked at Davis and realization dawned as she read the truth in his eyes. “That’s why you said we all three had the same doctor. Isn’t it? So I...none of us, needed to take the water to live, did we?”

  “We believe you were healthy,” Davis said. “We all were. Andrew simply had to get rid of us.” He shifted on his seat. “But, make no mistake, to take the water successfully, we believe a person has to be in a dire situation. Desperate, ill, half-crazed, physically or mentally wounded—”

  “With one exception,” Brogan clarified and all heads turned his way. “The Indians know how to take the water without suffering pain or risking death.” He dropped his gaze to the floor before adding, “Someone special taught me that.”

  “Interesting,” Davis said in a tone that affirmed he meant it. “But, without that knowledge, it’s a harsh risk. You either climb out the same, or drown. For each of us, we were desperate. But, we could have died.”

  Libby thought of Gretchen, and with a sigh closed her eyes and ran a hand over her forehead. When she opened them again, she looked at Brogan. In a quick moment, their gazes locked, acknowledging their memory of the young woman who had tried to take the water and drowned. Libby felt unsettled as he gazed at her, commanding her attention with his look of concern. She forced herself to refocus, and turned back to Davis. “What about Colette? She wasn’t desperate,” Libby said.

  “That’s not true, Libs.” Colette’s face scrunched in deep regret. “I was crazed, panicked that you disappeared on my watch. I’ve never lost any assignments, and I sure wasn’t about to lose my best friend.”

  “What do you mean, on your watch?”

  “Seven weeks ago, a man came to me claiming to have taken the water, thanks to you. He looked like a homeless guy, but when he spoke he was brilliant—”

  “Hardin Lochery!” Libby jerked her hands to the sides of her face. “He made it?”

  “That’s it. Hardin. I was ready to close the door on him, but he said you were sorry for not having said goodbye to me. I had nothing to lose, so I talked to him. He told me the wildest story I ever heard. That you helped him take the water and told him to focus on the future. I kept cross-examining him, but he never broke or veered from it. He told me...” Colette paused, tilting her head as though she wanted to remember the message exactly as she’d heard it. “He told me to tell you, ‘This is what friends do.’”

  A warm thrill raced through Libby and she covered her mouth with her hand, lest she react out loud with delight that Hardin had heard her, even as he lay dying. She’d been right to put him in the water!

  Colette continued. “So my next step—”

  “Wait, what happened to him?” Libby asked.

  “The bureau began setting him up in a special program.”

  Zach nodded knowingly. “Like Witness Protection without the protection?”

  “Similar.” Colette smiled at Zach with open admiration, then looked back at Libby. “He was on track to get a new identity and help finding work. But, I changed all that before I left, which I’ll explain in a moment.” Colette turned her gaze to the others. “His story was so unbelievable that it had to be believable. Once we accepted that possibility, we decided that if Hardin could do it, then so could others, particularly Andrew.” Her eyes glinted in the artificial light.

>   Davis had stood and retrieved more lemonade as Colette spoke. “You mentioned something about the steps you took?” He walked back to the others, but remained standing, putting a foot on a bench and leaning to prop his forearm on his thigh as he took a swig of the drink with his free hand.

  “From the tapes, we learned he spoke Russian. So there was a connection to the Soviet Union. We started with the assumption that, as an immigrant from long ago, Andrew probably shortened his name, but otherwise didn’t change it that much. We fed our data into the—”

  “Fed data?” Brogan interjected.

  Zach inclined his head, leaned toward Brogan. “Like a mechanical brain. It’s fed, or given billions of pieces of information, and it can search and pull things together for you.”

  Brogan whistled under his breath. “Amazing.”

  Colette continued. “We began researching the entire history of the country, back to when it was considered the New World. We found a man, in 1760, dispatched by Empress Elizabeth of Russia to come to the New World. His name was Andreii Grebenshchikov. Born, 1738. Sent back here at the age of 21 to promote trade, build relationships, generally give Russia a presence.”

  Davis held out a stopping hand. “You said sent back.”

  “Yes, he was here before, as a boy. I’ll get to that.” Colette took a deep breath. “We focused on Andreii, in a frenzied manner I might add. Fed his picture into the system. It brought up a rendering of the man dispatched. The resemblance was undeniable. We were convinced it was the same man, and that we had a fugitive, perhaps a revolutionary, traveling through time. One, we believe, with greater plans for Russia in the New World than what the empress ever intended.”

  “The New World,” Zach murmured, shaking his head as if in awe. “Unreal.”

  Colette nodded. “That’s what we thought. Especially when it took us back even farther in time.”

  Davis asked, “How far back?” He straightened, removed his foot from the bench, and stepped over it to sit again.

  “In the period of European exploration, from 1492 to the early-to-mid 1600s, there was a lot of activity in North America. The English, French, Spanish, Dutch. All competed for a foothold on this continent. Even Sweden was a European great power, and a major military force during the Thirty Years’ War. By the mid-1600s, the Swedish kingdom included part of Norway, all of Finland and, key for us, stretched into Russia.”