BackTrek (21 page)

“Yes, I do. Can I exit out that door?” Jack
asked, as he pointed towards a door near the rear of the
building.

“Yes, sir. Right out that door, and
then-”

“Down three blocks and take a left.” Jack
interrupted.

“Yes, sir.” The soldier smiled slightly and
handed Jack his pass. “Next.”

Jack walked to the door, and calmly exited.
Once outside in the sunshine, and the heat, his nervousness
returned. He glanced back towards the gate again, and was relieved
that his car was not one of the cars in line at the gate. He
trotted down the road towards his destination. He covered the three
blocks in a short time, and soon stood at the entrance. Jack opened
the door and entered the same building that he had entered a few
days before. Behind the same desk sat the same uniformed
soldier.

“Hi, I’m Jack King.” Jack said. The soldier
looked up, nodded, and typed at his keyboard. Shortly he looked
back up.

“You’re cleared Mr. King.” He said. “Just
follow this hallway straight back and through the door at the end.
Take the first elevator on the left to level Delta.” As the soldier
pointed down the now familiar hallway, his desk phone rang. Jack
looked at his watch. This was going to be close, he thought, as he
rushed down the hallway and through the door at the end. As the
door swung shut he glanced back, and saw himself, his other self,
approach the soldier’s desk. Too close, he thought, as he skipped
past the first row of elevators and hurriedly began to push the
button to summon the elevator. He glanced at his watch again, and
jabbed at the elevator button. Just as he pressed the button for
the third time, he heard it ding. The door opened painfully slow,
and he lunged inside just as it was open wide enough for him to
slide through. He immediately reached for the door close button and
began to jab it repeatedly. The door to his car remained open. He
pushed it again and again, as he peeked out and saw the door to the
lobby begin to open. He jumped back, a thankfully, simultaneously,
the elevator doors began to shut. Jack jammed his finger against
the button that he had practically beaten into the wall, and leaned
on it, as he listened intently. Seconds passed and he heard a
rumble that slowly increased in volume, and then the tell-tale ding
of the other elevator car as it arrived. Faintly he heard the doors
slide open, and then after a moment’s hesitation, slide close
again. Again he heard the elevator car rumble downward. He released
his firm hold on the close button, and exhaled, as he realized that
he had been holding his breath during the entire time he was in the
elevator.

He took a moment to catch his breath and then
relaxed slightly. He scanned the elevator panel, and found, much as
he expected, that there was no button for the Delta level on this
car. He punched the open door button. They slid open. Jack stepped
back down the lobby to the first elevator and punched the button on
the wall, and began to wait for the elevator to return. He was past
the gate. He was past the guard. He was in the installation, and he
was on time. All he had to do now was wait until the right time
arrived, and make sure that he didn’t run into Ted and his other
self, and everything would be fine.

A few minutes passed and then finally the
elevator returned, and once again he made the seemingly perilous
trip downward. Once Jack had finally arrived on the Delta level, he
felt much better. There was so much going on down there that even
in his civilian clothes, he didn’t stand out that much. He followed
a small group of unformed men down a corridor and entered into a
shower area. The men separated and went to their separate lockers,
while Jack just walked around like he belonged there. He rounded
the corner of one set of lockers, and saw exactly what he wanted. A
young man, evidently getting ready for a shower, had tossed his
used white lab coat into a laundry basket. Jack walked past him,
and nodded to him as he passed. Jack took three more steps before
he stopped and turned back to see him disappear around the corner.
Jack rushed back to the laundry basket and grabbed the coat. He
shrugged his way into the flimsy material. It was a close enough
fit to pass, Jack thought as he stuck his arms out to see just how
short the sleeves would be. Not too bad, he thought. He checked his
watch.

Now incognito, he felt even more comfortable
as he began to walk out of the shower area. As he entered the main
area, he saw Ted and his other self, as they entered the main lab
area. He looked at his watch. The gate should be fully open in
another ten minutes. He headed towards the main lab. Through door
after door, he shadowed his counterpart and his best friend. He
kept a safe distance, and immediately looked down if he thought
they would look back. He turned around and walked in the opposite
direction when they paused at the entrance to the project lab. Ten
steps in the opposite direction brought him to a corridor to the
left. He turned down it and stopped. He glanced at his watch as he
counted to ten, and then went back into the main corridor and
headed back towards the project lab. When he reached the door he
peered through window mounted in the door and saw Dr. Morgan as he
briefed the others. Jack waited patiently, with his stomach in
knots. Finally the briefing was over and the group stepped closer
to the door that entered into the inner lab, where the time gate
sat. Jack eased through the door into the project lab, and
stealthily slid to a corner out of the way. He grabbed a clipboard
that sat on the desk next to him, and pretended to check and cross
check very important things while he constantly watched both the
count down clock and the group by the doorway.

“It’s not working.” Jack heard his other self
say.

“On the contrary, Mr. King. The gate has
opened.” Morgan responded.

“But I can see right through it.” The other
Jack responded.

“What you see on the other side is this
room...this room on June seventh. Ted, you may proceed.”

“Let’s go, Jack.” Ted said as he led the
other Jack through the door and into the inner lab which held the
time gate. Jack watched as Ted walked up the ramp, paused, said
something to the other Jack, and then went through the gate. Jack’s
eyes marveled at the intensity of the blue sparks which randomly
jumped from plate to plate as the time gate stood wide opened.
Suddenly the other Jack ran up the ramp and through the gate. Jack
mentally ran through his mind what had happened when they had gone
through. First he had been unable to believe that it was real,
then, he had turned and saw the other Ted. A few more seconds, he
thought, as he turned and saw Morgan reach for the dial that would
begin the shut down sequence. His heart began to race.

“Touch that dial, and you’re a dead man,
Morgan.” Jack said as he dropped the clipboard and drew his gun.
Morgan and Phillips stared at him. Morgan stepped towards Jack.
“Stop right there Dr. Morgan. This isn’t about you.” Suddenly
Morgan’s eyes widened, as he recognized Jack. Morgan’s mouth opened
and he looked towards the doorway that Jack’s other self had
stepped through not even minutes before. “That’s right Doc. I’m
back. Okay, ladies and gentlemen, step to the rear of the room
please. Slowly and carefully. I would rather not see anybody get
hurt.” Slowly the others began to shift towards the rear. Jack
worked his way around to the doorway that led to the inner lab.

“You’re looped?” Morgan asked.

“Twice Doc...or, at least I will be in
moment. Thank you all for your cooperation.” Jack hurriedly went
through the doorway and ran up the ramp to the time gate. He passed
through without hesitation. First Phillips and then Morgan gathered
at the glass walls of the outer lab, and stared after Jack in awe.
They were shell shocked at the realization that the machine did in
fact work. Dr. Morgan, back in control of himself, casually walked
over to the main control panel and slowly turned the dial
backwards. He silently activated the sequence to close the time
gate, and smiled.

“Good luck, Mr. King. I hope that you find
whatever it is that you need so desperately...or, maybe it will
find you.” He said to himself, almost under his breath, before he
turned and left the control room. “Phillips! Where is my damn
coffee?" He his voice echoed down the corridor.

Jack came through the gate and headed for the
main door. Without hesitation he opened the door and peered out,
just in time to see the pair ahead of him turn the corner down the
corridor. He couldn’t go that way, so he headed in the other
direction. The direction that Ted had said was always guarded. He
came out into the opening and looked carefully for any movement at
all. It was silent. He crossed to the other side and stealthily
headed for the elevator. He reached the elevator without any
problem, punched the button, and the doors opened instantly. Once
inside, he hit the button for the first floor. He felt the elevator
surge upward, and waited impatiently as he shifted his weight from
one foot to the other. The elevator finally stopped and the doors
opened and Jack peeked out into the empty lobby that held the bank
of elevators. He listened for a second and then headed for the door
that led back to the entrance. As he cracked the door open, he
listened carefully for any sound, and heard what he expected to
hear. A voice, on the phone. It didn’t sound like the same soldier
that had been on duty that morning, and in this time line, Jack
knew he had probably already gone home. But there was a voice, just
the same. As he listened, he determined that the owner of the voice
probably sat at the desk. Briefly, he wondered how he could
distract him long enough to get past him. Suddenly he saw the fire
alarm box that hung on the wall, not inches from were his hand was
pressed, and he knew that he had an answer. He pulled the
alarm.

Smith could hardly contain himself as he
picked up his pace. How much better could this week have gone, he
thought as he walked back to the hotel. The adrenaline still
coursed through is veins from the kill. Though he continually
forced his mind to focus on his new assignment, he constantly
flashed back to the image of the slit neck of the prostitute. The
expression on her face was priceless, he thought. He could feel the
heft of the knife in his pocket, and smiled.

“Time is money, honey.” He said
sarcastically, and laughed. Yes it is, he thought. Yes it is. He
came to crosswalk at the hotel, and patiently waited with the
others for the crosswalk sign to change. Another assignment so
quickly was a good thing for him. Not just for the money. He loved
money. But it wasn’t about the money. It was about the craft. The
art. After all, that’s what he was, wasn’t he? An artist. A
creative soul with a well honed skill. The light changed, and he
moved ahead with the crowd. Yes. He was like a painter of old. A
DaVinci. A Rembrandt. But his medium was not that of ordinary
paints and canvas. No, not at all. In a way, he mused, he was
probably more like a sculptor. Some artists created in two
dimensions, and some created in three. Yes, he was more like a
sculptor. The lady next to him bumped his arm.

“Get the fuck away from me, bitch.” He said
nonchalantly, the smile still on his face. She glanced up at him
harshly and quickly moved away. Yes a sculptor. Some used stone, or
marble, or even wood. But not him. No, nothing so mundane and inert
as rock or wood for him. He used flesh. The more he thought of his
craft in this light, the more he began to realize that he actually
created his masterpieces in four dimensions, instead of just three.
A simple painting had two dimensions. Length and width. A sculpture
had the third dimension of depth. But his artwork had something
else. A fourth dimension of time. His subjects were alive, and then
they were dead. All in the passage of a few moments in time.

He stepped into the hotel lobby, and headed
for the exit on the opposite side where the loading and unloading
area was located. The bellman nodded at him, but he ignored him. He
was lost in his thoughts. Maybe, he thought, he created in even
more than four dimensions. In a way, his pieces transcended the
simple mortal concept of dimensions. They rivaled those of a God.
As he took the life of each of his subjects, he submitted their
immortal souls to the powers that be, for their ultimate judgment.
By including them in his creations, he personally delivered them
unto their final damnation. Or reward, as the case may be,
dependent upon their life’s works, their beliefs and the accuracy
such beliefs. In essence, he realized, he acted as the hand of God,
or Gods as the case may be, as he brought their lives to an end. It
intrigued him, this thought of a fifth dimension that expressed
itself within his work.

He stepped out of the lobby and approached
the taxi stand. He stood quietly behind the woman that he had
yelled at only moments ago. She was unaware he was behind her. The
next taxi pulled into place and she got in, and it sped off. He
stepped up. The next garishly yellow taxi pulled up. He got in.

“Where to, mister?” The dark skinned man said
in heavily accented English. He looked at Smith through the
rearview mirror. His turban was wrapped tightly around his
head.

“You know of a Pappa Louigi’s?”

“Yes. I do, sir.” He said nodding and
smiling.

“Take me there.” The driver pulled out into
the traffic, and Smith sat back in the seat. He folded his gloved
hands on his lap, as he continued to ponder this newly realized
concept of a fifth dimension in his work. The photo had always been
a proof on completion in his craft. But now he tried to remember
when he had began to so carefully pose his victims. Try as he
might, he could not place a certain time in the past. It had become
so second nature, that he had begun to do so on every assignment.
Could it be that this too had been guided by some unforeseen force,
he wondered. Then his mind drifted back to the hooker. He had not
taken a picture of her. As a matter of fact, he never took pictures
of any of the subjects he chose to eliminate just for fun. And he
definitely had not taken any pictures of that bitch whore sister of
his. Or his fucking dirt bag mother, or his shit for brains useless
father. The mother loving son-of-a-bitch.