Fate (Wilton's Gold #3) (10 page)

Dexter looked at his friend. With the meetings and the impromptu trip to Florida, he’d completely forgotten that Jeff had been put into an untenable situation. As Bremner gave Jeff his reluctant okay, his fire about Kane quickly drained from him. There were other important things.

A moment later, they were exiting Bremner’s office. Victoria was nowhere to be seen – she must’ve made her way back to her office once she was no longer needed. They stood looking out over the atrium. “What do you make of that?” Dexter said.

“I think the other me was up to something,” Jeff said.

“You don’t have to be a genius to figure that out.”

They didn’t look at each other. “You knew about the relationship?”

“I did, yes.”

“How long did it go on?”

“Couldn’t have been too long after her arrival here,” Dexter said. “I can only assume it ended when you left.”

“So here’s the question... Why would I go out of my way to recruit this woman, only to draw her into a relationship when I knew that my plan was to skedaddle? What’s her role here?”

Dexter fixated on a fichus up against a window three floors below. The least productive thing he could think of was being dragged into a discussion about Jeff and his old girlfriend. He changed the topic. “Are you certain your plan was to skedaddle?”

Jeff sat in the middle of the mall’s food court eating a chicken sandwich and curly fries. The bags of clothes he’d already had the opportunity to fill sat on the floor leaning against his right leg – he’d already pulled them out of the way of a woman in a wheelchair trying to navigate the narrow aisles. The sandwich was dry and poorly constructed, and it hadn’t been his top choice for lunch, but with limited time he didn’t want to waste it in a full service restaurant. He’d get himself something more appealing for dinner.

He’d seen Agent Fisher tailing him at least a half-hour ago. Fisher now sat on the other side of the dining area, his face stuck in an I-Pad as he pretended to be doing something extremely captivating. Jeff smiled. He flashed back to Fisher stalking him at the hotel bar after he’d hunted down Ekaterina at the airport. He couldn’t imagine how this FBI agent, who was trusted enough to be put on one of the federal government’s pet projects, could be so inept at espionage. Not wanting to underestimate him, though, Jeff simply assumed that Fisher wanted to be seen.

The tail wasn’t a surprise. He’d figured they’d want to know his every movement, which was going to be a frustrating way to live life for however long it lasted. Jeff wanted to remind Fisher that the U.S. government had put him into this situation to begin with, and the least they could do was respect the fact that he was cooperating when what they’d asked of him was really too much to ask of anyone. So far, they’d treated him like a business traveler. But he wasn’t. This was his life. He had no home. He had no substance. He had no relationships, other than his friendship with Dexter and a very confusing connection to Victoria. He hadn’t even been able to take a moment to consider any of those things, he’d been so busy doing their bidding.

But at least he could get some clothes. He finished his sandwich and stuffed the last few curly fries in his mouth then picked up his bags, leaving the food court. He kept a quick pace through the mall until he reached a men’s store he used to like in his previous life and ducked inside. He took a few moments analyzing the store, then positioned himself behind one of the racks of dress pants that enabled him to see the entrance. Sure enough, sixty seconds later Fisher slowly strolled by, his hands behind his back. Jeff averted his eyes to keep Fisher from knowing he’d seen him, but knew it was entirely possible they were playing the same game.

Back to the business at hand, Jeff grabbed a handful of pants and four shirts from around the store and headed into the changing room. While he hadn’t been able to convince them to care about his plight until after they’d gotten what they needed out of him, he had been effective in making them feel responsible for his expenses. After a quick requisition, he was now enjoying a taxpayer-funded shopping spree at the mall. But he wouldn’t take advantage. Despite his apparent rapid rise to power and influence, he was still a lab geek at heart, so middle-of-the-road attire was acceptable and appropriate enough. He chose two of the pants and two of the shirts – though he did go back to the rack to find a third shirt in a different size, which they didn’t have in stock. He cashed out and walked into the mall to find a shoe store to complement his array of purchases.

Predictably, there was Fisher, leaning against the railing overlooking the mall’s lower level, waiting for him. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” he said.

“Stakeout?”

“Not exactly.”

A throng of teenagers walked between them. Jeff let them pass, then stepped forward toward Fisher. “I would think you’re here to make sure I don’t do anything stupid. That I don’t try to pull anything now that I’m not being monitored in the friendly confines of a government facility.”

“Well, yes, that’s why they sent me.”

Jeff shook his head. “I don’t know what I could possibly do. I don’t have access to the time devices, and it doesn’t matter what changes you make to the future. Only the past.”

“You can understand why they’re paranoid.”

“Oh sure,” he said. “I would be.”

“You got a minute to chat?”

He looked around the mall and held up his bags. “I only have today to myself, and I was kind of hoping to spend it doing as little as possible that had to do with the United States Time Program. Tomorrow I dig back in. Can it wait?”

Fisher stared at him blankly.

Jeff sighed. “Alright – well, at least buy me a beer. That’ll make it more tolerable.”

There was a restaurant near the entrance where Jeff had parked the car that had been rented for him, so he threw his bags in the trunk and met Fisher at the bar. They ordered draught beers and settled onto their bar stools. After a few moments of watching Fisher watch sports highlights on the television hanging in the corner, Jeff said, “Well, you’ve got me here. What’s up?”

“I’m trying to figure out how to word this,” Fisher said, still looking at the TV. “I need to know something about time travel.”

“What’s that?”

Now he turned to face him so he could talk using his hands. “Thinking about Benjamin Kane...” he said. “Now, I don’t know all of the details – I haven’t been privy to those conversations. But my general understanding from Dr. Murphy’s description is that he went back in time and murdered a competitor of his family’s business. Now, because that happened in the past, currently there’s no need – or, let’s say no reason – for Kane to go back and do that again.”

Jeff took a swig from his beer. “I have no idea what you know and what you don’t know, and what’s classified or not, but yes, you’re right.”

“Okay,” Fisher said. “That’s the first part. So, the Benjamin Kane that you met with yesterday has no intention of going back in time. However, that doesn’t take away the fact that someone named Benjamin Kane murdered the other man in the 1930s. Right? It’s still in the history books, yes?”

“It is, yes.”

“Explain that to me.”

“Well, it’s all theory, of course,” Jeff said, again, conscious of everyone around him to make sure they weren’t talking too loudly about time travel. The bar area wasn’t full in the middle of the afternoon, but there were some shoppers taking a break from walking around the mall to enjoy a beverage. “The theory states that if an event happened in history, regardless of whether it was caused by time travel or not, it exists in history going forward. Unless, of course, that event is changed. As in, if someone were to go back and stop Kane from murdering George Mellen, the new history – or, in effect, the old history – would become history.”

Fisher held up a finger. “Alright – pontificate on this one... So your friend Dexter is the only one who actually knows the real truth about Kane. If he were to write that history down in a journal, then go back and stop the murder, when he returned would the journal still say the same thing? Or would it change to reflect the new history?”

Jeff sighed. These were the types of questions that hadn’t been answered yet. “It’s actually hard to say. I suppose that if nothing changed the course of history where Dexter actually made the entry in the book, or, even started the journal in the first place, I wouldn’t see why it would change. Although, it might, now that I think about it. You know what? If Dexter takes the book with him and history changes around him and the book, then it stays the same. If he leaves it in the future, his own present time, I think there are just too many variables. Likely it would change – or, rather, be non-existent.” Fisher was nodding as he talked. “Where are you going with this?”

“Well, wait,” he said. “You know, I have diagrams at home trying to figure all of this out, but I think I’m on the same page as you up until now.”

“That’s good, I guess.”

Fisher took a drink from his own glass. The television flashed a shot of the Redskins, who were contending for first place in their division – a lot must have happened in the three years since Jeff had been away. “Now, could there be a loophole that would enable someone to keep a record of time travel repercussions, despite changes being made to history?”

He shook his head. “I don’t follow.”

“Okay, let’s say I want to keep a record of changes being made to history beyond what’s simply in my brain,” Fisher said. The bartender noticed Jeff’s glass was empty and offered another one. Fisher motioned for another round. “I want to keep a journal. But I know if I leave it in my present time, it could change. However, I don’t want to have it with me.”

“Why not?”

“Let’s say I’m doing something illegal. Or morally suspect.”

The bartender returned with full glasses and took away Jeff’s empty. Fisher’s first was still half-full. “You know something...”

He shook his head. “I don’t. I’m worried that I’ve stumbled upon something.”

“Worried? Why would you be worried?”

“Let me finish,” he said. “Would it be possible to stash the records somewhere?”

“Where? Like in a safety deposit box? I don’t see what that would-”

Fisher shook his head again.

Jeff smiled. “Oh, you mean stash it somewhere in the past?” He thought it out, talking slowly. “So I write in the journal, and then I take it and hide it somewhere in the past – probably before whenever the change in history was to make sure nothing unexpected happens – which would make it a part of history by the same logic we used a minute ago.” He nodded his head. “Pretty smart. Are you planning something?”

“No.”

“Then someone else is.”

“That’s my fear.” He picked up his original beer and finished the remainder in one fell swoop.

Jeff was lost in his thoughts for a moment, automatically fixated on the television showing the best plays from the day before, mostly hockey and basketball as his mind roamed elsewhere. In his head, he went around the table from the meeting at USTP the day before, trying to figure out who Fisher could be describing. No one really stood out in his mind – no one with the proper access, of course, much less the understanding of the intricacies of time travel. For all intents and purposes, he felt like the program had been stymied by his other self’s departure a year-and-a-half before, so he didn’t expect any significant scientific advancements in his absence. Then it occurred to him that Fisher could have been talking about him – or, the other version of him. Had he done more than simply run? He made the decision to play it cool. “You know, it’s funny – last time you and I had a congenial conversation, it was over a drink. Only it was at the Waldorf. Our standards have declined.”

“I don’t remember that.”

Jeff laughed and shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t. You’d followed me just like you did today. Only I was following the Russian woman that you’d sent me to find. I broke the news to her that she was involved with time travel, which she took pretty well, and then you approached me and we had a drink.”

“What’d we talk about?”

Jeff thought for a moment. “You want to know what’s crazy? To me, that was only like six or seven days ago. In real time, it was about three years ago, but I should be able to remember what we discussed.” He laughed. “I’ve been through a lot since then... I think I asked you where you would go if you had the choice to time travel.”

“What’d I say?”

“If I remember correctly, you said the Old West.” He laughed again. “No, that’s right. Then I told you that I’d gone back to see Bobby Thompson’s home run in 1951 and you said you wanted to change your answer.”

Fisher smiled, really for the first time. “Both of those sound like me. The Old West, and then wanting to change my answer.”

“So why did you say you have some fears about this theory?”

He sighed. “Because I’ve come to the conclusion that time travel is dangerous. In the wrong hands, there is always the potential to change history without anyone knowing that it’s happening.” A group of young guys came into the bar and sidled up next to them, loudly ordering drinks. “Let’s get out of here,” Fisher said. He drank down his second beer, threw a $20 and a $10 on the bar, and they stood together, leaving. Not knowing where to meander in the mall, they turned to the outside. Fisher saw a park bench sitting near the entrance to the mall and took a seat. With no one around, Jeff leaned on the railing facing him. Though it was cold, the sun was out, mitigating the chill.

“Thanks, it was getting a little too crowded for this conversation,” Fisher said.

Jeff nodded.

“About a year-and-a-half ago, you fled the program.”

“My other self did.”

“Yes, your other self fled the program. Since I was involved to some degree when we first found your device in California, I was brought in to investigate. There were two components to the investigation: one, how you gained unsupervised access to the time travel device you used to flee; and two, where you were headed. When you didn’t come back, the first investigation lost its steam. Clearly, you were up to something and were smart enough to hide it from everyone. However, when I investigated the devices to determine if there was a way to figure out where you went, I came across usage records for the fleet of devices. There were a dozen of them at the time, I believe – not sure what it’s at now.”

“But I would’ve had the device with me.”

“Right,” he said, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “I had no way of knowing where
you
went. Which seems like a major flaw in the program that to my knowledge they haven’t yet fixed. But what I did find was a series of missions that had an interesting sequence. Every other mission was to the same coordinates. Or, every pair of missions, counting the return. There would be a mission and then these coordinates. Then another mission, and then the same coordinates. Except for the time of day. There was a five minute difference between each one. Seven or eight times, this pattern happened.”