The Left Behinds and the iPhone That Saved George Washington (26 page)

“You mean, like, witchcraft?” says Brandon.

“No. I mean
chaos theory
. He is the world’s foremost expert, and now very unfortunately, he is putting into practice what he has long contemplated in theory.”

“Chaos theory?” says Bev. “What in the world is that?”

“Technically, it is the study of dynamic systems. You may have heard of the famous example—an extra flap of a butterfly’s wings in Asia could alter a weather system by the tiniest amount—but enough to cause, ultimately, a hurricane of gargantuan proportions on the other side of the world. Kurtis, alas, is not interested in experimenting with butterflies. He requires a figure of consequence. From his perspective, George Washington is a very suitable candidate.”

“He left a note,” I say, pointing to Kramm’s satchel.

“Very typical. Kurtis is starved for attention. He, unlike me, was not willing to labor for decades in obscurity. But what Kurtis doesn’t know is that I have inserted spyware into his copy of the source code. So I am able to track the movements of anyone who uses the iTime app. I was quite aware, therefore, of Kurtis’s activities. Once I learned where Kurtis programmed his iTime app, it was not difficult to guess his intentions. Kurtis himself went back in time in order to secure a
change agent
. Or, in other words, someone to do his dirty work.”

“Kramm,” I say.

“The ugly German dude,” says Brandon.

“I am assuming,” Professor Moncrieff says, “that you have met the change agent.”

“Yep,” I say. “Things didn’t work out so well for him.”

“Wait a minute here,” says Mr. Hart. “Hold on. Has anyone thought through the
risk
of all this?”

“Do you mean the risk of doing nothing?” says Professor Moncreiff.

“I mean the risk of sending … children … into an incredibly dangerous situation!”

“They interfered,” Professor Moncrieff says. “They admit to it themselves. They stuck their noses where they didn’t belong. It is entirely their fault. I had other plans to … remedy the situation. I had assembled a team. Of
men
. Not kids. Men with specialized, shall we say, abilities. Ex–Navy Seal. Ex-CIA. Ex–Army Ranger. They
were nearly ready to be … inserted into the deployment zone. Then? You kids interfered with my plans!”

“Well, we
kids
remedied it for you,” Bev says.

“Yeah,” says Brandon. “When we last saw him, George Washington was alive and well.”

“They crossed the Delaware,” I say. “They won at Trenton. So all’s well that ends well, right?”

“Right,” says Bev. “Now I just want to get out of here. I need a hot shower in the worst way.”

“You will be free to go in a minute. In any case, from this point forward, further information is classified. Know that Kurtis is a most relentless man, however. Most relentless. He no doubt will make other … arrangements. Please now give me your phones. They must be deprogrammed.”

Now, this I’m not expecting.

Give up our phones? After what we’ve been through with them?

I check with Brandon. I check with Bev.

Bev shakes her head
no
.

No.

On this one we most definitely have a united front. As our self-proclaimed leader, I step up, so I’m standing directly in front of this Professor Moncrieff guy. I look him dead in the eye. “That’s not going to happen,” I say. “Not in a thousand years.”

This is a very satisfying thing to say, and I mean every word. I feel good about myself, even. I stood up to The Man.

But Professor Moncrieff only smiles. A very crooked smile. Then he snaps his fingers, and the door to the basement opens.

Three men step in.

Men
.

Not kids. Military-type dudes. Each one is maybe six-foot-two and 220 pounds. Hands as big as waffle irons. Close-cropped hair. Shades. Arms crossed, like they mean
business
.

This must be the team he was telling us about. The one he assembled.

“A thousand years?” Professor Moncrieff says. “These days it just doesn’t mean as much as it used to, does it?”

Uh-oh. Maybe we haven’t come to the end after all.

I have to confess that although I’ve tried to stick pretty close to the historical record of Washington’s Crossing of the Delaware, I’ve taken a few “liberties” here and there. The biggest one involves Ben Franklin. I really wanted to include Ben because I think he’s such a wonderful character, and besides, who else would be able to recharge an iPhone? The real Ben Franklin was not in Philadelphia in December 1776, however; he had in fact made it to France, where he bedazzled all of Paris as the lead representative from the Continental Congress. Other than this, I don’t think I’ve made other deliberate variations in the timeline or the events of the crossing itself, although as a fiction writer I have certainly made up scenes that never occurred.

The portrayal of both Ben Franklin and George Washington are my own interpretations, but I hope my admiration comes through. Certainly each man wasn’t perfect, but what strikes me most about them is how much they risked to help create a new nation. Ben and George were successful, prominent men who could have kept their heads down and played it safe—but didn’t. The risk wasn’t simply losing an election or having a piece of legislation voted down, either. Had the British prevailed, they would have been prosecuted as traitors, or simply hanged from the nearest tree. On the other hand, both men knew full well that if the revolution succeeded, they would be remembered—and honored—throughout history. The stakes were as high as they get.

I grew up a few miles from George Washington’s headquarters in Morristown, New Jersey, where he spent the winter of 1779–1780, and it must have been from passing by the place so often that I first developed my love of American history. I was a curious kid and liked to find things out, which sometimes meant I had
to read books and go to the library. (I would have been
all
over Wikipedia had it been around!) I learned that if you have sharp eyes, you can notice stuff. Scattered throughout New Jersey are dozens of historical markers that trace Washington’s routes and pathways along the grid of today’s highly developed road system. Although New Jersey surely has many more highways, bridges, buildings, golf courses, and industrial complexes than it did two hundred years ago, beneath all that we have the same land, the same rivers and streams, the same hills and ridges, and the same ocean. Fewer trees, perhaps. Well, definitely fewer trees.

By the time my wife, Cindy, and I had our own children, I was eager to show them what I knew of Washington’s travels within our state, and in a process of mutual discovery we began exploring the realm around us. I think we must have gone to our first reenactment of Washington Crossing the Delaware when my oldest son, Thomas, was six and his brother, Charlie, was three. It was a beautiful Christmas afternoon, cold but bright and clear, and I distinctly remember asking myself, as I looked out upon the thousands that had gathered for the occasion, what would
we
do if we were suddenly transported back to 1776? Would we have the same courage, the same resolve, as Washington and his troops? Could any of us modern-day citizens endure what our forefathers endured?

Thus an idea for a novel was born, although the research took about ten years. During that period I tried to read, see, and experience as much as I could of Washington’s Crossing. I’m afraid I cajoled Thomas and Charlie to join me as wingmen as we traced the foot route from the landing to Trenton, saw reenactments of the Battle of Trenton and the Battle of Princeton, and poked our noses into backyards and byways along the route that we hoped might still retain important, and heretofore undiscovered, evidence of the journey. So far we haven’t found anything, but we’re still looking.

DP, Pennington, NJ

GEORGE WASHINGTON

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

REVOLUTIONARY WAR

EARLY AMERICAN HISTORY