Prologue (28 page)

Ginter took a moment to compose
himself
. “This is Pamela.
From
Portland
,
Maine
.”

“Lewis.”

Ginter ignored her. “What the hell is going on? And why was Nikitin racing me here?”

“They’re on to us,” Amanda panted. “We’ve got to go back tonight.”

Ginter turned to deVere. “What happened?”

Paul deVere appeared not to hear. Instead, he stared nervously down the hallway.

“I changed the front door code and disabled the elevators,” Ginter said, following deVere’s gaze. “They’ll have to walk up 20 flights. Now, what the hell is she talking about?”

“Apparently it’s so. Amanda says that they hacked into her computer and know we’re going back. We’ve got to go back now.”

“Go back now?” Ginter was incredulous. “Are you crazy?
What about all the tests you want done?”

DeVere cut him off. “There’s no time. I’ve opened up the search mode at your terminal and turned on the Accelechron. I know we don’t have the original wormhole but we’ve got to find the closest one and just go. If we stay here we’re cooked.”

DeVere pointed to the terminal in the lab.

Ginter walked over to it. “You’re all crazy. It took hours to find the wormhole to 1962. We don’t have hours.”

“You were being careful not to get caught. We don’t have time for caution now. We’ve got to just go. Do it.”

Lewis Ginter sat at his terminal and began entering data. Paul deVere leaned over his shoulder.

“Where to?”
Ginter asked no one in particular. Amanda stood with her eyes riveted on the front door of the lab. Pamela Rhodes appeared dazed as she wandered around the room, apparently unable to comprehend what was happening.

“A park,” deVere said. “You said a park was a safe place to arrive in.
A nice city park.
And let’s get anywhere in the old
U.S.
in 1962. Try to find someplace one of us will recognize.”

“A park it is,” Ginter answered without looking up as he kept typing.

Natasha let
Rostov
lead the way up the stairs. She reached into the side compartment of her shoulder bag and brought out a .38 snub nosed revolver. With practiced hands she opened the barrel and checked the cylinder. She reached into the zippered compartment in her purse and pulled out cartridges. She slid them into the open cylinder and snapped the revolver shut.

“Give it to me,”
Rostov
panted, holding out his hand.

Natasha hesitated only a moment before handing over the revolver.
Rostov
slipped it into his belt.

At floor ten
Rostov
started to tire. “Should’ve kept up with the physical fitness recommendations,” he said, pausing to bend over and grab his knees.

“You need energy pills,” Natasha said. She popped a capsule in her mouth, and gave
Rostov
thirty seconds to rest. “Let’s go.”

Rostov
shook his head. “You go first.” She did, he followed, and they continued up.

“My briefcase!
I left it in the hallway,” Amanda said.

Lewis slapped his head. “All right, be quick about it.”

Amanda poked her head out of the lab. She spied her briefcase over by the elevators where they’d been talking. She hurried over, grabbed it and whirled her head as she heard a door open. It wasn’t the lab door, she knew, that was already open. From behind her she heard Pamela say, “Oh, this is such a weird night, who are you?”

A Russian-accented man said, “Move.” When Amanda heard feet running in her direction it broke the spell and she dashed for the lab door, colliding with Natasha five feet from the entrance.

Amanda didn’t fall down, but Natasha did. Natasha sprang to her feet and said, “Dr. Hutch. Going somewhere?”

Natasha reached out and grabbed Amanda’s bare arm. Amanda swung her briefcase hard and felt it connect against the wall behind Natasha as she lunged for the lab door.

Amanda made it in and slammed the door shut. “Natasha…and…someone else,” she panted as she ran across the room. Both men stared at her, horrified expressions on their faces. “Come on guys, what are you waiting for?”

Paul just pointed. Amanda turned and looked to see a trail of paper wafting in her wake, then at the open briefcase in her hand. “Oh…my God…it sprung,” she whispered. She tossed the empty briefcase aside and dashed back to the door, bent over, and scooped a fistful of loose papers into her purse.

A boot thudded against the door. She heard Natasha yell, “The pass card, stupid, wave the card!”

She grabbed as much paper as she could and ran back into the lab, clutching Paul’s arm.

“Come on, Lewis,” she urged.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” he said, punching numbers on a keyboard connected to the mainframe at the side of the room. “It’s not that easy to find another one.”

The door beeped. Paul realized it was about to open. “Lewis, get us gone,” he said.

“I’ve got one wormhole going to 1967… 1966…”

“We need early ‘62,” Amanda pleaded.

“This isn’t September first, remember? That wormhole isn’t open,” Paul said quietly. “Lewis…”

“I’se be tryin’
massa
…
1965…1964…damn these slow computers.”

The door flew open, and Paul and Amanda turned to see a man holding a snub nosed revolver in his right hand. His left arm was encircled around the throat of Pamela Rhodes.

“Move away from that terminal,” he commanded in a thick Russian accent.

“Who are you?” deVere demanded.

“I order you to get your hands away from that computer right now or I will shoot,” he said, training the revolver on Lewis Ginter.

“Nineteen sixty-three…September…getting warm…almost there,” Ginter said.

“Now, Lewis,” Paul said quietly. “Just hit enter. Open the damn hole.”

“But–”

“Doesn’t matter any more.
Gotta’ go now.”

“All I’ve got is a 55 to one ratio,” Ginter protested.

“Do it,” deVere said quietly. He stepped toward the man, drawing his attention.

“Let the girl go,” he said quietly. “She’s not involved in this.”

The Russian shifted his grip to Pamela’s head and angled the gun directly against her temple. Paul stopped in his tracks.

“You must be Dr.
deVere
and you”-the man gestured at the computer from which Lewis had just pushed back his chair-“must be Lewis Ginter.”

“And who the hell are you?” deVere growled, moving to his right away from Lewis Ginter.

The man trained the revolver on deVere’s chest. “Do not continue, Professor.” He swung the revolver back at Ginter. “On your feet!” he commanded.

From out in the hallway deVere heard a sudden shrieking blare. He cast a stunned look back at Ginter.

“The fire alarm?” he asked dumbly.

Ginter rose to his feet with his hands in the air.

“What is it you want?” he asked the Russian.

The sequentially circuited alarm triggered throughout the building and the lab’s overhead horn sounded a shrill piercing blast.

“You set the building on fire?” deVere asked.

“Don’t be stupid,” the man responded, but deVere detected uncertainty in his voice. The man waved the gun to his left, motioning Ginter to move toward deVere.

Ginter held his ground, his arms still in the air. “If there’s a fire we better get out of here now. The elevators are disabled, as you no doubt noticed. Walking down 20 flights is going to take some time. Fire can spread quickly.”

The Russian took a step back, pulling Pamela Rhodes with him. Her face showed only calm. Good girl, deVere thought.

“Comrade!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Never mind the papers! Is there a fire?” He turned back to the pair. “You will come with me now.
Down the stairs.
We will get to the bottom of this.”

Ginter moved to his left, arms still upraised. As he came abreast of the Russian deVere stepped forward from the gunman’s left. The Russian started at the unexpected movement. The split second was all that Ginter needed. Pamela twisted and Ginter’s right arm crashed down on the Russian’s gun hand knocking it down and forward. The gun went off as deVere dove to the right and Pamela pushed at the gunman’s arm. A second arm chop by Ginter sent the revolver sliding across the floor. Before it had stopped Pamela had spun and hit the Russian straight on in the face with the flat palm of her hand. The Russian dropped and lay still. In a flash Amanda crossed the room to the entryway and slammed the lab door shut. She jammed a chair underneath the doorknob.

“That should hold her out. I don’t think she had a weapon,” Amanda said breathlessly.

DeVere moved over to the prostrate Russian. “We need something to tie him up with. Is there any rope?”

“There’s no time,” Ginter shouted. He cast a quick look at the figure sprawled across the linoleum floor and stepped back to his computer terminal. “All I could find was a window open for six minutes. It has a 55 to one ratio so it’s very unstable.”

“Is there a fire?” Amanda asked from the rear of the room.