36: A Novel (17 page)

“I really hope that’s not an offer,” I grinned.

“Fuck off,” he chuckled, then wiped the smile off his face and glared at me again.  “Once the mission is complete, you are to find a private location and stay out of sight for the duration of your time in the past.  You are to avoid contact with any person that is not absolutely necessary for a successful redaction.

“You will be in the past, Mr. Whitman.  There is the potential for a significant impact to time as a result.  A chance encounter can set a chain of unpredictable events into motion that were never intended to happen.  And as was explained to you, the smallest change to the past can ripple forward through time, growing exponentially.  We might not see the results for years or decades to come, but that doesn’t mean the potential for disaster isn’t there.

“What if, while you’re in the past, you are tired of waiting and decide to go to… I don’t know.  Let’s say a bar, to get a drink.  While you’re in the bar, you witness a man slap a woman and choose to intervene.  You save her from a few slaps, but what else did you just set in motion?

“Maybe that slap was the only time he ever lays a hand on her, and if you hadn’t stepped in they wound up working things out.  And have a child.  And that child grows up to be an influential businessman or woman.  Or maybe even President of the United States.  But because of your interference, that child is never born because the parents didn’t have the chance to work out whatever caused him to slap her.

“Or what if you inspire her to stand up to an abusive husband and she decides to kill him, rather than pack up and leave in the middle of the night.  And winds up in prison for the rest of her life.  He’s dead, and she’s ruined.  But what would either of those people have done in the future to influence the world?  Because of you, they never had the opportunity to do it.”

“But those are just
what ifs
,” I protested.

“Exactly.  And if you can’t answer the question, you can’t interfere.  Because there’s no way for you to know the impact of your actions.  Sending an asset back in time is a tremendous risk.  The potential for unintended consequences is almost assured.  Why do you think we don’t go back and prevent smaller events?  Like say the murder of one or two people.  Or a suicide.

“We’ve gone round and round about this since the project began.  The best minds in the country have argued, and are still arguing, the wisdom of risking a change to time.  But what everyone agreed on is that there are some events so heinous that we have a moral responsibility to redact them.”

“Not everyone,” I said.

“Ahh, that’s right.  You’ve spent time with Professor Riley.”

He was referring to one of the theological experts I had worked with, learning about the religious beliefs of the primary threat to the safety and security of the US.  We’d had several discussions about history and human nature.

The Professor’s position had been that humans needed horrific events to bring us together and keep us moving forward as a society.  Without those, he claimed, man would grow more and more self-centered and unwilling to make the hard choices necessary to preserve the species.

His favorite argument was that without the Holocaust, there would be one less nation on the planet.  That the murder of millions of Jews was the impetus that brought about Israel.  He laid out a scenario in which we were able to go far enough back in time to kill Hitler and all of his henchmen before they seized power in Germany. 

Then, based on what was happening in the world at the end of the 1930s, he projected what he claimed would have been the probable events that shaped our modern world.  According to his theories, without World War II, the US would not have developed atomic weapons.  Would not have mobilized every single citizen to a war footing. 

It would have been Germany, who was scientifically far ahead of America at the time, who created the first nuclear bomb.  And facing the threat posed by Stalin, Germany used them on Russia.  And didn’t stop there.  America was next.  Then Japan and the UK.  Germany, without the mentally unbalanced Hitler making grievous errors with its military, became the world’s sole superpower and ruled the planet with an iron fist.

I had no idea if he was right, nor could I argue that he was wrong.  But remembering the discussions with him reinforced what Johnson was saying.  Every individual has a role to play, no matter how insignificant.  Nudging time, by changing the path of even one person, could have devastating long term effects.

“Got it,” I said.  “I’ll be very careful.”

Johnson nodded, then looked down when his phone beeped. 

“They’ve identified an event point,” he said, turning and heading for the door.

21

We met in the same conference room where Dr. Anholts had first told me what Project Athena was all about.  Johnson and I sat on one side of the table, Patterson at the head, and a studious looking man named Carpenter opposite me.  The projector was on, displaying a frozen image of a large building that I assumed was in Southern California because of the palm trees surrounding it.  And that’s where the event had occurred.

Carpenter was the head of the analyst team that had traced the terrorists and decided upon an event point.  He wrapped up a cryptic phone call, and based on Patterson’s patience with him, I suspected it was directly related to the event.

“I’m Jim Carpenter.  We haven’t met,” he stuck his hand across the table after putting his phone away.

I shook his hand and introduced myself.  Well, introduced JR Whitman.  At least I didn’t make a mistake and use my birth name.  Johnson would have never let me hear the end of that.

“What’s the final count?”  Patterson asked.

“97 children, eleven teachers and staff, and four police officers,” he answered without having to consult his notes.

“Dead?”  I asked, horrified all over again.

He nodded and after a moment Patterson told him to proceed with the briefing.  He cleared his throat and looked around the table as he began speaking.

“Gentlemen.  We have found an event point with an eighty-three percent chance of success.  The next closest point falls below a fifty percent probability of success.  The preferred point is the apartment building currently displayed on the screen.

“We successfully back-traced the perpetrators to this location, fifteen hours pre-event.  I will detail the specifics of the event point, but first I have details on the subjects.”

He pressed a key on his laptop and the screen changed to a collage of photos of eight men.  All were swarthy and bearded with closely cropped hair.  He quickly ran through a list, providing some of their names.

“These are the eight bodies identified at the scene of the event.  Five are in the country legally, from Yemen, on student visas.  Two at USC and three at UCLA.  The other three have yet to be identified and appear to be here illegally.

“There are two possible event points where they are all together in the same location.  Once, for a brief time in a parking lot adjacent to the school.  Prior to that possibility, within the distance window that can be reached, there is only one other opportunity where they come together.  We are recommending the earlier time as our event point, and it is what my briefing will focus on.  I can expand on the other option if there are questions or concerns.

“The apartment building is located in the city of Downey, California, twenty-one kilometers southeast of downtown Los Angeles.  City population is 115,000 as of the most recent census.  Our event point is in apartment number 2C and occurs from seventeen twenty-three until nineteen twenty-nine, local time.  The end of the event point is precisely fifteen hours and eleven minutes before the beginning of the event.”

“Do we know what they’re doing in the apartment?”  Patterson interrupted.

“No, sir.  They appear to have gone operationally silent well before our thirty-six-hour window.  No calls, emails, texts, social media posts.  Nothing.  They seem to be well trained and disciplined.”

Patterson nodded for him to continue.

“The apartment is leased to a woman by the name of Janice Bass.”

He pressed a key and the displayed image changed to one of a poorly framed shot, probably from a cell phone, of an overweight blonde woman in her late 20s or early 30s.  She was standing next to a beach, grimacing at the camera with the blue Pacific in the background.

“Is she involved?”  I asked, wanting to know her status when I arrived.

“Uncertain,” Carpenter answered.  “One of our teams has already been through the apartment.  She wasn’t there when they arrived.  Phone records and social media have been checked and there is no indication so far that she is an accomplice.  But there is also no evidence that she is not.”

Johnson cleared his throat to interrupt the briefing.  I turned to see him looking at me.

“Without evidence to the contrary, if she is in the apartment when you arrive, she is to be considered hostile,” he said.

I nodded slowly, understanding the instruction but not liking it.  After a moment I turned my attention back to Carpenter and he continued.

“Additional weapons and ammunition, as well as explosives, were discovered in the apartment.  Detailed documents on the school, its staff, and surveillance notes from observing the local police patrol sectors were also found.  The attack was meticulously planned.

“Our recommendation is the following.  The team in California has identified that apartment number 3F is vacant.  It is at the opposite end of the building and one floor above the event point target.

“We can deliver the asset into the vacant apartment ahead of the arrival of the targets.  Unseen.”

“So, what?  I get there a little early, then break into their apartment and wait for them to arrive?  Take them out as they come through the door?”  I asked.

“Probably not a good idea,” Johnson said, then turned to Carpenter.  “Do they all arrive at the same time?”

“Negative,” he shook his head.  “They arrive individually over a forty-seven-minute span.”

“That’s why not,” Johnson said to me.  “You might get the first one through the door, and maybe even the second.  But what if there’s some code they’re using.  A special knock.  Maybe the first one in turns on a specific light to let the rest know it’s clear. 

“We have no way of knowing this, and if you get some of them, there’s a very real possibility the remainder are prepared to continue with the attack on their own.  Or will pop up somewhere else in the future.  You need to be sure you get all of them.”

I nodded, glad I’d asked and appreciating his experience.

“Weapons I’ll be facing?”  I asked Carpenter.

“AK-74s.  Full auto.  This one and this one,” he put up a new image with only two of the terrorists’ photos.  “Are both carrying pistols.  Browning Hi-Powers in nine millimeter.  Other than spare rifles in the apartment and explosives, that’s all they have.”

I stared at the screen for several long moments, burning the two faces into my memory.  When I was sure I’d recognize them, I looked back at Carpenter.

“What about the explosives?  What do they have?”

“Semtex, plastic explosive,” he said, referring to a small note pad.  “One point three seven pounds.  But there were no blasting caps or detonators found in the apartment, in their vehicles or on their bodies.”

“Do I need to be worried about a bullet hitting the stuff and setting it off?”

“No,” Johnson answered.  “It’s very stable.  A bullet can’t cause it to go off.”

I nodded, hoping like hell he really knew what he was talking about.

“How early are you proposing we send the asset?”  Patterson asked.

“The scenarios we’ve run show that an hour would be optimal.  But that’s with an asset who is experienced.  In Mr. Whitman’s case, since this is his first time being transported, we are recommending two hours.”

“Agreed,” Patterson said.

I listened and kept my mouth shut.  I clearly remembered the briefing I’d received about what it’s like to go back in time.  They had shown me a video of three former assets, now deceased, who graphically described the disorientation associated with time travel.  Two of them described it as debilitating, rendering them unable to function for at least fifteen minutes. 

But the third, a young woman with long, red hair, described it as like being spun on a playground whirly-gig so fast that she fell on her face and couldn’t get up for nearly an hour.  Since it seemed to not be consistent from person to person, no one could tell me what to expect.

I’d suggested that they send me back ten minutes, as a test, so I would know what to expect.  They told me that was a good suggestion, and they’d tested it in the past.  Unfortunately, it didn’t tell them anything.  Any distance less than twelve hours didn’t cause disorientation or vertigo for any of the assets.  Only when that mark was exceeded.  And the farther back they went, the worse it was.

I tried to talk them into sending me back fifteen hours as I was very concerned about what condition I’d be in when I arrived.  The briefer had considered my idea and taken it to Director Patterson who had rejected it immediately.  It was explained to me that an asset couldn’t be unavailable for that much time.  There was no way to predict when the next event would occur, nor how much time within the event window would be needed.

I asked if the disorientation happened when they returned to real time, not looking forward to getting hammered by vertigo on both ends of a trip.  Surprisingly, I was told it only happened when going backwards.  Then Dr. Anholts had launched into a recitation of the theories and calculations to explain this.

It all came down to the difference between going back and returning to real time.  Going back, you were transported through a Black Hole.  Subjected to unimaginable gravitational forces.  But returning was different.  The machine was turned off.  There was no Black Hole.  Just the Universe restoring balance.

“So, if I understand this correctly, the problem with going back that kills anyone without my specific genetic marker wouldn’t apply coming forward,” I’d said to Dr. Anholts one afternoon.