Time's Divide (The Chronos Files Book 3) (41 page)

“Yeah. Tilson’s on the computer in the next room. Secure channel. He’s trying to get permission to go in—”

“Permission? Permission from whom?” My voice rises at the end. “Are you saying we can’t act until we cut through a bunch of Fifth Column red tape? Because I never agreed to wait for—”

Charlayne mutters a curse. “You’re not the only one in this, you know. I think it’s perfectly reasonable for Tilson to get us some backup, if possible. Maybe turn this rescue mission over to professionals? It’d be much safer for everyone involved, especially those of us who can’t just blink back to yesterday if we run into trouble.”

I’m about to fire back an angry retort, but she’s right. I may not like it, but yes, she’s right.

“I’m sorry. It’s just . . . that’s my
mom
, Charlayne. My grandmother.”

Her expression softens a little as she adds, “Everybody’s mom, grandmom, dad, brother, second cousin, you name it. They’re
all
in danger right now. Just keep that in mind.”

“Please tell me you used that little stamp on your families before they left DC?”

“Yes. And no, Julia didn’t authorize it.” She shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “The point still stands. If you think the only danger is the virus, you’re wrong. Ben has this computer model, and he thinks many of the survivors won’t even make it due to the chaos after the virus hits. Loss of medical services, rioting, and so forth.”

“It’s okay, Charlayne. You’re right. If we can get backup, that’s a very good thing.” I turn to Trey. “On the phone. You were saying something about a smoothie, and I have no idea where that was going.”

“Well, Kiernan and I . . .”

I follow his gaze over to Kiernan, who opens his eyes. “You’re still tired,” he says. “Yes. I know you had some futuristic superpotion, but who knows when that’ll wear off. You need real, actual sleep. We can’t risk you getting stranded somewhere else—”

“If you know a way to stop the Culling clock that’s currently ticking, I’d agree, but we still need to get the vials.”

“They don’t mean sleeping here and now,” Charlayne says.

“So . . . at the cabin.”

Kiernan shakes his head. “I suggested that, but you’d be all alone”—he shoots Charlayne an annoyed look—“since the consensus seems to be that I remain here. And while I don’t think the cabin is compromised if we choose our dates carefully, it’s not worth the risk. I’d suggest my
old
place.”

I shake my head, not following him. He sighs and glances at my key. “The one I mentioned when we were in 2308? It may smell a bit like tobacco, but it’s clean, warm, and safe.”

At the word
tobacco
it clicks. Jess’s shop. That’s where he’s stashed the keys. But when?

“Give me your key,” he says, “and I’ll—”

Charlayne snaps the gun up, and I turn on her. “Will you put that thing down? He can’t go anywhere as long as I’m holding the key. He’s just entering in the date.”

She relaxes slightly but doesn’t lower the weapon. Just as Kiernan finishes, the door opens. Ben and Tilson don’t seem happy, and they’re not making eye contact with me.

“What?” I ask.

Tilson sits on the sofa, parking his crutches back in the spot they were before Max and Eve vanished. The same thought must occur to him, because he glances at Max’s CHRONOS key, forgotten under the chair in the chaos of Max and Eve vanishing.

“I’ve just been speaking with . . . Max’s main contact. The person Julia answered to. She was teleconferenced in to our meeting.”

“Okay.” He must mean the woman who was shocked that the conspiracy might have gone beyond a few rogue Cyrists. I sit down on the edge of the bed next to Trey and wait for Tilson to go on.

“What did she say?” Trey asks when Tilson remains silent. He’s clearly expecting something bad, because he puts a protective arm around my shoulders, as if bracing me for the news.

“They’ve found Mom, haven’t they? And Katherine.” My voice is strained, because from the look on their faces, whatever they have to tell me isn’t something I’m going to like.

“No! They haven’t found them, Kate. It’s just . . .” Tilson gives his thin shoulders a tiny shrug. “It seems Max explained the situation to her earlier, at least in part. She knows Simon is holding your mother and Katherine. I didn’t give up the location, but I think it could easily be a place they’ll suspect. And . . .” He pauses, looking pained. “Julia wasn’t the only casualty. All three of the officials who were at the meeting—Ellicott, West, and Pearson—were found dead in their offices. Similar crime scene for each. No one saw or heard anything.”

“That’s . . . awful,” I say, again remembering Julia’s body slipping from her chair onto the blood-soaked floor.

“Yes, and it’s one reason Julia’s superior has decided we can’t risk any sort of rescue attempt. She believes this cell, the destruction of the keys, and tracking down the virus need to be under her direct control. A car should arrive in twenty minutes or so. You’re to retrieve the keys and bring them back here for her people to pick up. They’ll store the keys in a safe location and then take you to meet with her so that you can discuss plans for retrieving the virus.”

“And you can’t tell me who this person is?”

“No.”

I stare at him for a moment, speechless. “And you expect me to just do as this nameless, faceless Fifth Column person commands? When she’s not even offering to protect my family?”

“No,” Tilson repeats. “I expect you
won’t
.”

I’d fully anticipated a lecture about the importance of the chain of command, so this takes me a bit off guard.

“But,” he continues, “five young people against one old man on crutches? Even if I was inclined to stop you, could I?”

Bensen shoves the two rifles that were on the bed into the bag at Charlayne’s feet. “Can you pack up the rest, Char? I’ll pull the van around to the back entrance.” He hesitates for a second, maybe in response to her expression, which I can’t see from this angle. “You can wait here with Tilson, if you want.”

“Ri-i-ght,” Charlayne says. “If you’re going, I’m going, too.”

“That’s what I was hoping,” Ben says, planting a quick kiss on her forehead. “I like our odds better if you’re there, too.”

“Why?” I ask them. “You were just holding a gun on Kiernan. Why help us now?”

Charlayne glances at Ben and then says, “Julia, Max, Tilson, you. I don’t know anyone outside this cell, but I do know that’s the chain we’re supposed to follow—and if you’re in trouble, we get you out. That’s a cardinal rule that even those outside this cell should know. And if you go into this alone, you’re
going to be
in trouble.”

In a perfect world, she’d have said,
Of course, I’m helping you. I’m your best friend. Duh!

But I’ll take it.

I grab Max’s CHRONOS key from under the chair and stash it in my pack. Tilson tosses me another one . . . Eve’s, I guess.

“No,” I say. “Keep it. If another shift happens, we need your memory intact. But hide it if you can, just in case this Fifth Column honcho doesn’t agree.”

Once Ben leaves to get the van, Charlayne pulls out Kiernan’s key and tosses it to him, although I still get the sense that it’s against her better judgment. “Exactly where are we going?” she asks.

Everyone looks at me for the answer, but all the places I can think of—their houses, Katherine’s house, even Mom’s townhouse—are probably being watched.

“Well, wherever it is, I don’t need to know,” Tilson says, enunciating each word carefully. He was pretty certain earlier that the room wasn’t bugged, so I’m guessing he just doesn’t want to have that information in case he’s questioned. “The beds look quite comfortable. Perhaps one of you can pick me up in the morning once all of this insanity is over. Assuming they don’t cart me off for obstruction of justice.”

“Okay, let’s take it outside,” Trey says. “But, Dr. Tilson, are you sure you don’t—”

“Positive. I’d slow you down. And maybe I can steer them off course a bit.”

“Thank you,” I say, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. “For everything.” As we’re heading out the door, I turn back. “Did you know that Max was the one who set fire to Katherine’s library?”

“No,” Tilson says. “But I’m not surprised. Julia . . . and others . . . saw those books as a threat.”

“Max?” Trey says, closing the door behind us. “And here I was feeling a little sorry that Eve erased him.”

The back lot is mercifully empty of people. Ben pulled the van right up to the sidewalk. Charlayne is already inside, and Kiernan is about to join her when Trey and I catch up with them.

“Why didn’t you just use the—” I begin, and then say, “Oh. Tapped out?”

“I don’t think so,” Kiernan says. “Spent a few days at the cabin before I came here. But I’m not going to waste what I have left on a lateral jump when a car can get me there nearly as quickly.”

I’m tempted to note that he hasn’t dealt with DC-area traffic if he thinks a car can get him anywhere quickly, but he’s probably right about conserving his jump juice.

“And you shouldn’t risk it much further, either,” he says in a lower tone. “Go to Jess’s. Get some rest and then get the keys. Have you checked to see what time Pru wakes up? She’ll be disoriented. I need to be there.”

“About ten minutes before eight.”

“Kiernan’s right,” Trey says. “You need rest. I’ll drop him at the back hedge and then join Charlayne and Ben at your dad’s place.”

I’m not entirely sure how I feel about Trey and Kiernan in a car, talking, without me knowing what’s being said. And yes, that’s probably paranoid and self-important and a host of other things. It still makes me nervous.

“Okay,” Charlayne says. “That settles who’s riding with whom and where
he’s
going. Now where are the rest of us going?”

Good question.

“What about the cottage?” Trey asks. “The one you and your dad lived in at Briar Hill? Do you still have the key?”

“Yes.” I gesture toward my backpack. “Front pocket. Officially, Dad’s still living there through the end of the semester. It gives him a place if he needs some time alone.” Or, more accurately, some alone time with Sara, but I don’t go into that. “But Briar Hill is Cyrist now . . . at least partly.”

“True,” Trey says. “Still, you could say the same about pretty much anywhere these days. And it’s close to Katherine’s.”

“It could work,” Ben says. “We all have school IDs, and there are activities most nights. If anyone gets nosy and spots the jet packs, I think I can explain them away as a science project. The weapons, though . . .”

“Give them to me,” I say. “I have a local point set at the cottage. From when I was proving all of this time travel insanity to Dad. I’ll drop them before I go to Jess’s.”

Kiernan hoists one of the bags and slips the strap over my shoulder. I grab the other one, and soon I’m loaded like a pack mule, lugging two bulky military duffels in addition to my backpack.

Trey leans down to give me a goodbye kiss, but his lips are quivering with barely suppressed laughter.

“What?”

“You should see yourself. The toga, the sandals, and now this. You look like a short Greek Rambo.”

“Athena, Goddess of Modern War,” Kiernan cracks as they get into the car. And now they’re both laughing.

I pull up the stable point and blink out, now completely certain that the two of them riding in the same car was a very bad idea.

∞21∞

B
OSTON
, M
ASSACHUSETTS

May 3, 1912, 7:50 a.m.

I’m awake a few minutes before my phone starts to vibrate. The air smells of tobacco, just as Kiernan said it would, and while the room itself was a bit nippy when I jumped in last night, the quilts on the cot kept me nice and warm. The pillow carries the faint scent of the soap Kiernan uses—Ivory, I think—and there’s a copy of Sherlock Holmes stories on the crate next to the bed. It’s
The Return of Sherlock Holmes
, and I’m pretty sure it’s the same one I saw at his apartment in 1905. I get the feeling Kiernan has used this spot more than once in the past few years.

Two of the Sherlock stories kept me company last night while I was waiting for the tonic to wear off enough that I actually could sleep. I haven’t sat in bed reading for months, and reading by the light of the CHRONOS key was almost like reading by flashlight under the covers when I was a kid. Between that brief escape and a solid eight hours of sleep, I’m more fully rested than I’ve been in weeks.

Time to get the keys and go home. The sooner Connor has them reduced to a pile of useless metal, the happier I’ll be.

I tug down the sweatshirt I’m wearing—one of Dad’s that was in the dryer downstairs. Ideally, I’d have grabbed the 1905 dress from my bedroom, but Simon has eyes in that room, and it didn’t seem like a good idea to telegraph any clues about my destination. If male time travelers are okay in jeans, then I guess I’ll be a tomboy this trip. And yes, Katherine would be appalled.

God, I hope they’re still safe.

Lifting the hook-and-eye latch on the door, I peer cautiously into the store. It’s a sunny morning, with light pouring in through the large windows, and it takes my eyes a few minutes to adjust after the dim light in the storeroom. There’s a new sign on the wall—a little boy in a yellow raincoat advertising Uneeda Biscuits—and I think Jess moved the candy jars. Otherwise the store looks pretty much the same as when I was here with Kiernan seven years ago. Or a few weeks back, if you’re using my calendar.

Jess is behind the counter talking to a customer. He must catch the movement of the storeroom door, however, because his manner shifts from friendly chatter to brisk and businesslike.

The little bell above the door rings. I’m about to peek out again, to see if it was this customer going or a new one entering, when Jess says, “Whoever you are, come on out, but keep your hands above your head. If I see a weapon or hands near your pockets, I’m gonna shoot.”

I have the strong feeling I’ve stepped into a cheesy western movie, and I’m a little nervous about going in with him armed. Jess must be getting close to ninety, and the fact that he has severe arthritis makes me wonder exactly how steady his trigger finger can be.

“It’s Kate!” I wait a moment, then push the door open slowly, hands raised.

Jess is still aiming the gun, but his grip seems fairly steady.

“What’s the name of the drink you like? So I’ll know it’s you and not your aunt?”

Really?

I think back, but I can’t remember the name. “Some-thing . . . 
Club
. Started with a C. The stuff is wicked strong. And . . .
Clicquot
!
Clicquot Club
.”

Now that he’s convinced, he stashes the weapon under the counter and breaks into his usual smile, shuffling around the corner to greet me. “Miss Kate! It’s been too long. Way too long! I thought it might be you, from what Kiernan said yesterday, but he also told me that precautions were in order.”

He hugs me like he did last time, and my return hug is a bit less forced this time. When he pulls away, he says, “You’re the younger Kate, aren’t you? Not the one he married.”

I nod, even though the label
younger Kate
gives me a chill. It’s much too close for comfort to the
Younger Pru
and
Older Pru
we’ve been using to differentiate between Pru’s different ages and levels of sanity.

“Thought so,” Jess says.

I glance down at my odd clothes, and he laughs. “Well, partly because of that, yes. But you also seem a little shy. The Kate I know best would’ve already asked if the coast was clear.”

“For . . . what?”

“For us to run off to Niagara Falls,” he says with a cackle. “Leave Kiernan and Amelia to handle the store. She’d tease right along with me, though she didn’t mean it any more’n I did. No way she could love anyone ’cept Kiernan. You could see it in her eyes the day he slipped that ring on her . . . finger.”

Jess seems to realize this might be an awkward conversation for me, because his smile fades. He clears his throat and says, “Follow me, and we’ll get what you’ve come for.”

He disappears behind the counter, and I follow, standing at the edge as he crouches down and opens a large wooden chest. I can’t see inside, but a tiny gust of cold air hits my ankles, so it must be an icebox. One by one, he pulls bottles out and arranges them on the shelf near his head until he finds the red-and-white container full of medallions near the bottom.

“They might be a tad cold. I had them down under the bottles. Figured if anyone did come around looking—” He stops as the bell over the door jingles.

A man is stepping inside, his body outlined by the sun streaming through the doorway. There’s no doubt in my mind that it’s Simon. I leave the keys in Jess’s hands and lean a few feet over to grab the gun under his counter. The man takes two more steps toward us, and I freeze.

Not
Simon.

He’s the same height, about the same weight, but now that he’s away from the glare of the windows, I see that he’s at least thirty years older with an olive complexion and thinning black hair. And if he was a few feet closer, he’d be able to see that the gun I’m holding beneath the counter is aimed straight at his chest.

Jess chuckles softly when he sees my expression, but his eyes are a little worried. “Easy does it, girl.” Then he says in a louder voice, “I’ll be with you in just a moment, sir.”

I take a few calming breaths and put the gun back. “Sorry, Jess,” I whisper, bending down to retrieve the keys. “It’s been a rough couple of weeks for me.”

“I can see that. It’s been a rough coupla years for Kiernan. You give him my best, okay? And . . . tell him I’m not expecting to see my Irene back, although if by some miracle it happens, I’d be mighty grateful. But I
am
expecting him to make those sons a bitches pay, you’ll pardon my language.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll tell him.”

B
ETHESDA
, M
ARYLAND

September 12, 7:40 p.m.

Connor is standing at the workbench, wearing gloves. One of those masks that cover your nose and mouth hangs around his neck, and there’s a small torch and several bottles, along with an eyedropper, in front of him.

He casts a dubious eye at the container I’m holding and tugs the dust mask down. “I’d have thought they’d be in a flashy gold-plated urn or something.”

“Nope. Nothing but a Ziploc logo on the bottom.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

“Gotcha.”

“Ha. Funny. Now go. But leave the door open, okay? I need some ventilation.”

“Can I help?”

“No you cannot. Go. Just . . . you and Harry keep an eye out, okay? I’ll be a lot less nervous once I turn these things into cheap costume jewelry.”

“Sure, but first . . .” I snag one of the keys from the bucket. “For Daphne.”

Connor sighs, giving me a sad smile. “Okay, Kate. But . . . not for long. Once you stop the Culling, we destroy the rest of the keys. The timeline we get is the timeline we get. And it may not be one where Daphne’s running around the backyard. If it’s any consolation, I feel sure she’ll be running around
somewhere
, but . . . we can’t keep a key around in order to hold her here.”

There’s suddenly a lump in my throat, making it hard to breathe. It’s not just the idea of losing Daphne, as bad as that would be. It’s what Connor’s
not
saying that has my eyes on the verge of spilling over. He means we can’t keep a key back for him, either. And while I can easily imagine shoving this time train back onto a track where we have Daphne, I don’t even remember the track where Connor existed without that key, the track where his children were alive.

“Connor, no—”

“Kate.” His eyes hold mine for a long moment. “I need to focus on what I’m doing here, sweetie. Go outside and wait with Harry.”

I don’t move at first, just stare back at him, torn between the impulse to punch him and the impulse to hug him. “Okay,” I say finally. “I’ll go. But this discussion is
not
over, Connor. Not one bit.”

Dad’s on the bench outside the shed, the Colt sticking awkwardly from his belt. I can tell he heard everything we said. He pats the spot beside him and puts an arm around me. I’m glad he knows me well enough to keep quiet, because if we start talking about this, I’m going to lose it. So we just sit there silently and watch as Connor destroys another key.

There’s still no sign of Kiernan. I pull out my phone and check the geo app, pressing my finger to the dot on Sixteenth Street.

“She’s still at the temple. Unless it’s just the phone,” I add, because I know that it could be and assuming it’s not seems like it’s a jinx or something. If Simon or his henchgoons found out she was carrying it, this would be the perfect trap. Leave the phone there, take Mom and Katherine somewhere else, and just wait.

Dad shakes his head. “She’s there, Katie. They might have taken a purse, which she never carries, or a backpack. They might even have checked her pockets. But this is your mom.” He glances down at the phone in my hand, the one I just pulled out of my shirt. “Where was her phone?”

He’s right. It’s tucked under the left shoulder strap of her bra, in front and on top, where she can discreetly snag it without digging around too much. She’s at least as bad about sticking her phone there as I am. There are some styles of bra that both of us refuse to buy simply because they don’t provide adequate phone support. It’s still no guarantee they didn’t find it, but I push the thought away. The odds are good that she’s still got it, and dwelling on the negative isn’t going to get me through the next few hours.

Daphne begins to bark as blue light flickers briefly between the branches of the hedge at the back of Katherine’s property. I reach over Dad to grab the gun, just in case it’s not Kiernan.

But it is. I glance at the time and realize Daphne’s intruder alarm is probably what woke Pru up when I watched her through the key earlier.

I squeeze Dad’s hand. “Keep an eye on Connor. Kiernan and I are going to talk to Prudence. I just hope she has some idea when and where the virus was stored.”

Pru is halfway to sitting, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, when Kiernan and I step into the kitchen. He pushes me toward the breakfast nook, pressing a finger to his lips. There’s a dab of something that looks like taco sauce on the front of his shirt. “Coffee, love?” he calls out.

I think he’s talking to me until Pru says, “Yes, please. I feel . . . funny. Fuzzy.”

There’s about an inch of coffee at the bottom of the pot. Kiernan snags a mug, which I’m pretty sure is used, from the sink. He adds the coffee and some milk before sticking it in the microwave.

“Where are we?” Pru asks.

“Just a temporary stop. I’ll bring it to you. Wait there.” He looks at me as he says the last two words, and I slide onto the bench.

When the timer rings, he starts hunting around for something. The sugar bowl is in front of me, so I tap twice on the table. He heaps three spoonfuls into the mug, sips it, and then adds one more before carrying it out to her.

I wait, annoyed that I can’t see into the living room. Annoyed that they’re not saying anything. But since he knows her better than I do—much,
much
better—I just wait.

“More coffee,” Pru says finally. “And I need to pee.”

“Um . . . that’s the last. I can make another pot, if you’d like. And the bathroom is . . .”

He probably has no idea, since the only room he’s been in prior to this is the kitchen.

“Actually, someone else is here,” he says, a bit louder. “In the kitchen.”

That’s apparently my cue to enter. I do so hesitantly, peeking around the corner first. The conversation so far has given me little clue as to which Prudence we’re dealing with. Is it the placid, childlike version, or the one who hurled a lamp at Dad’s head?

“This is . . .” Prudence is looking around the room when I enter, like she’s trying to get her bearings. Her right hand clutches the remnants of the pillow she destroyed. “I was talking to two men. They were going to help me . . . help me find Deborah. Simon has her . . . at least I think it’s Simon . . .”

She stops, her eyes narrowing as she looks at the kitchen door where I’m standing. “You.”

I’m not sure what I’m going to say until I’m already speaking. “I got them, Prudence. Like I promised. I got your key from Victoria Woodhull, and Tate and I kept you from giving the keys to Saul. Now we just have to stop them from killing everyone—and find . . . and find your sister.”