Prologue (33 page)

“Insurance,” she answered simply. “I’m an adjustor for State Farm.”

DeVere nodded. “Well, there’s no answer to your question. One could argue that we were in the wormhole a negative sixty-three years but that really makes no sense since time has no meaning in a wormhole, which just connects two times and places. Lewis?”

Ginter nodded. “I think that is the only accurate answer to the question.”

Amanda jumped in. “But what if after we left in 2026 someone else left and went to an earlier time, say 1960? Then history could have been changed before we arrived back here.”

Ginter scoffed and shook his head forcefully. “If someone changed history then it changed for everyone, including us, so we would have known the revised history before we left.”

“Huh?” Pamela asked.

“But what if we failed?” Amanda persisted, ignoring Pamela. “Could someone have left after us and arrived before us to try to make sure we succeeded?”

“Maybe that’s what Eckleburg was doing,” Pamela said.

“And is that why these helpers sent the cops after us?” Ginter asked sarcastically.

“Look,” Pamela continued. “This conversation is going nowhere. We can’t figure out from here what anyone else was up to in 2026. And we can’t go back until December. So, what difference does it make? We’re going to have to figure out what we can do now.”

“She’s right,” Ginter added. “All we can do is what we can do.
Nothing more.”

He turned to Paul. “Eckleburg said he was suspicious that you might be a squisher. But if he was just scamming the others maybe he knew you really could be trusted.”

“Lewis,” Paul began, “I never met Eckleburg. I don’t know why he’d suspect me.”

“Maybe not personally,” Ginter continued. “Maybe it was not
you
Eckleburg was suspicious of but someone around you.” He kept his eyes on Paul.

“Like you?” Pamela asked, turning toward Ginter. “You think Eckleburg suspected
you
?”

Ginter shook his head forcefully. “Why would he ask me to a meeting to tell me he was suspicious if I were the suspect?”

“Why does it matter?” Amanda asked. “We’re here, he’s not, and like Pamela said, what we’ve got to do is just try something.”

“Such as?”
Ginter asked. “How can we convince Kennedy to invade
Cuba
now?”

“What?” Amanda asked. “Lewis, there’s no way. The time to have invaded
Cuba
was last year when the
United States
was threatened with weapons of mass destruction 90 miles away. I know you think it’s my fault we’re a year too late but I’m sorry. We’ve lost that chance. Kennedy will never invade
Cuba
now. He stared down Khrushchev and Khrushchev blinked–all without a war. The missiles are gone. Kennedy won-there’s no need for a war now.”

“He has to,” Ginter said coldly. “Don’t tell me it’s too late.
Cuba
will start exporting revolution before the end of this decade. Ché Guevara will march through
Bolivia
and up through
Central America
and they’ll have this country by the throat. Those chemical weapons and that dirty bomb will come from right over the border.”

Amanda shook her head. “I understand all that, but Kennedy will never invade now. John Kennedy was a hero in World War II. He’s seen its horrors. He’s not going to start a war when he’s already won a stand-off.”

Amanda shifted to face Ginter squarely. “But we still may be able to convince him to stay in
Vietnam
. That may be our best chance now.”

“When is that decision going to be made?” Ginter asked.

Amanda pulled out her itinerary papers and flipped through them. “Ah, here we are. Kennedy will meet with his advisors in a special Sunday meeting at the end of November, 1963.” She grabbed the calendar from the desk.

“November 24,” she said. “Within our window since we are here until what, December 8
^th
?”

“Where’s the meeting?” Ginter asked.

“In D.C.,” Amanda answered. “There has to be some way of postponing or canceling that meeting. There has to be somewhere in here we can impress upon him the danger of a pullout.”

Ginter took the sheaf from her. “Right, why don’t we just call the White House and arrange lunch?” he asked sarcastically. “How do you think we’re going to convince the President?”

Lewis threw the sheaf of papers onto the table. “Invading
Cuba
means we stop Guevara. But there’s more than one way to do that. Today is
August 5
^th
, 1963
. I’m not going to spend the next month waiting for the editor of The Times to return calls to do lunch.”

“Hey,” deVere said, breaking the tension.
“Speaking of lunch.
I haven’t eaten in a negative 63 years and I’m hungry.”

Paul checked his watch. “I set it by the clock in the lobby. It’s
11:06
.
Perfect time for an early lunch.
There’s a restaurant on the ground floor. And I want to try that crank machine. Let’s eat and try to come up with a new plan.”

“I guess we could tackle this better on a full stomach,” Amanda said.

“Wonder if they’ve invented the salad yet,” Paul said, grabbing his key from the writing desk.

“Man, have you noticed how much everyone stares at us?” Lewis asked over his open menu. “I guess our clothes are kind of weird.”

“That and you’re kind of black,” Paul said. “I don’t see a lot of other black people around here.”

“And I’m better looking than you three,” Lewis said as Paul and Amanda rolled their eyes. “The ladies are the ones staring, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, rats. Forgot my money,” Amanda said, pushing her chair out. “I’ll pop back up, be down in a sec.”

“No sweat, I can handle it,” Lewis said.

“Oh no, my treat, I insist,” Amanda said. She hurried away while Paul and Lewis stared after her.

“What’s that all about?” Lewis asked Paul.

Paul shrugged.
“Women.
You know. She isn’t really going to treat.
Just an excuse.
Bad time of the month,” he muttered.

Ginter raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know that, Mr. Loyally Married Man? Is there something in your personal life you’re not telling us?”

DeVere cleared his throat. “No, she told me back at the lab just before we went through the wormhole. She had to run to grab her purse.”

DeVere turned to Pamela. “Speaking of marriage, what about you? Am I the only married one in this group?”

Pamela blushed. “I guess so.”

“Never been married?” Ginter prodded.

She shook her head.

“I know I was wrong about Pomeroy but is there another boyfriend up there in
Portland
?” Ginter asked.

“There was,” Pamela answered slowly. “But not in
Portland
.”

She blushed again, and hesitated. She started to speak but stopped when the waiter arrived to refill the water glasses.

When he moved away Pamela said, “I was engaged to a resister from
Phoenix
I met in
Portland
. Some friends of mine downtown introduced us. But he was killed in a raid on the Chase Manhattan Bank in
New York
three years ago. Something went wrong and the local cops showed up too soon and he got shot in the ankle and couldn’t make the car. The others left him and he got killed in a shootout.”

The table grew quiet. DeVere could hear the water glasses clinking from the other side of the room.

“I’m sorry,” deVere croaked. “This can be so tough for all of us. We’ve all made sacrifices.”

His thoughts turned to Grace and he wondered if he were successful in accomplishing his goals what would happen to her. Would she ever be born? Would he still adopt her?

Pamela shrugged. “He was a lawyer who practiced environmental law. He settled a case for a huge amount in
Phoenix
.
One of the biggest ever.
He played football and was pretty rugged.
Played professionally for a bit.
When he was killed, my mother took it really hard.”

Maybe, just maybe, David’s theory of life forces would prove out, deVere thought. Maybe Grace was destined to be born regardless of what happened back here.

“I remember the Chase raid,” Ginter said. “It would have netted a ton of dough. I didn’t realize that you had a connection to one of the participants. How old was he?”

Pamela inserted another roll in her mouth.

“Your age?”
Ginter asked helpfully.

She nodded through a full mouth.

“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asked, reappearing at deVere’s shoulder.

“We’re still waiting for one.”

“I’m here,” Amanda said, breathlessly slipping back into her seat. She replaced her pocketbook on the floor. “Sorry about that.”

Ginter closed his menu. “I’ll start.
Cheeseburger, no onions, ketchup.”

“Cheese steak.
Also no onions,” Amanda said.

“No one likes onions?” Paul teased. “Well, they do have a salad, and I’ll have one.
Russian dressing.”
He tossed his menu down.