Yesterday's Thief: An Eric Beckman Paranormal Sci-Fi Thriller (12 page)

Back under the table. I looked over at the TV. 7 … 6 …

The power went out. Should I get my flashlight out of the backpack? Goddamnit. No time. Just hold on. I stuffed my tablet into the pack. Was this to be the final six seconds of my life?

A small tremor. Not bad. In the fun range. Phew. No, wait. That wouldn’t have triggered EEWS.

Boom. The building shifted as if struck by an aircraft carrier. The leg of the table knocked me in the head. I hugged my forehead against it so that wouldn’t happen again.

The swaying shifted into high gear. Things slid back and forth as if a giant chef were agitating a city-sized frying pan of shrimp. Back and forth with an occasional flip. My chair took a trip around the room, silhouetted against moonlight coming through the windows.

The floor lunged up then dropped away, taking my stomach with it. “Aaargh!” Video of the World Trade Towers collapsing flashed into my mind. Crashing from the kitchen announced that everything in my cupboards was now on the floor.

Then silence, except for hundreds of car alarms echoing up from the streets. I started to crawl out from my hiding place, but it began again, an instant replay, and kept going and going. This had to be the big one. The building was swaying like the arms of entranced concertgoers. At the end of each excursion, I expected the hesitation and break that would send my condo to the ground. I screamed again. I couldn’t help it.

With one final jolt, it stopped. Not wanting to be fooled again, I stayed under the table. From the outer pocket of the earthquake pack, I pulled out my REI headlamp and fitted it over my forehead. The place was a mess, but the building had survived.

After two minutes of stability, I put on the backpack and went to the windows. A jagged crack extended across the full width of my largest window. The city was dark. The windows of neighboring buildings displayed the moving, dim lights of flashlights. I went into the hall to check on the two neighbors on my floor.

Kim O’Farrell, the seventy-year-old gym rat next door had a nasty gash on her forehead but had already bandaged it. She was dressed for her predawn workout. <
Fucking earthquake.
>

My other neighbor didn’t respond to banging on his door or to yelling. I’d never met him, but he might be in there bleeding to death. So I decided to break down his door. Maybe I wasn’t totally justified, but I figured it would be good practice.

Even with Kim egging me on, though, I couldn’t kick it in.

She shook her head. <
What a pussy!
>

Maybe it was better that way. If I broke the door and he was out of town, someone might loot his place. But I’d sure feel bad if he died in there.

I limped back to my own condo, put on my backpack, and trekked down the stairs to the street. I wasn’t going to stay there another minute. I chose a spot on the curb farthest from any buildings and sat down.

I pulled out my tablet and brought up the saved article that had been the culmination of my search. I just had to read through it one more time before I dealt with the aftermath of the earthquake.

San Francisco Chronicle Archives

August 1, 1980: International Jewel Thief Disappears

A Ms. Viviana Petki, suspected of jewel heists in both the U.S. and Romania, narrowly escaped the clutches of police on Thursday evening. Some even think she was responsible for the theft of the Portensia diamond in 1978. She’s reputed to have stolen millions of dollars’ worth of jewels and other loot. Despite this, she was never arrested, and has never been fingerprinted.

Investigating the heist of jewels from Marla Davis’ hotel while Ms. Davis was performing at the Fillmore West, police followed Petki to her uncle’s lab in the China Basin district. Before police could apprehend her, the building burst into flames and burned to the ground. Her body was never found, and no underground tunnels were discovered.

“I saw her go into the building,” said Police Lieutenant Nicholas Renzo. “Ain’t no way she came out. We had four officers surrounding it.”

This event follows the mysterious disappearance of her uncle, Zaharia Dudnic, in 1979. Dr. Dudnic was a world-renowned physicist, whose radical ideas on space-time and energy generation had been discounted by his colleagues.

The article answered some of my questions. She was a criminal, that’s why she escaped from the hospital. But she couldn’t be prosecuted after so many years. She would know that. I’d have to research the statute of limitations for theft.

The China Basin district now held the ballpark.
The lab was surely right where home plate is now.

But where was the uncle? Did he also jump forward in time? Had his lab sat vacant for a year, or did Petki use it, too?

I put my tablet back and leaned against a tree. I was the only person who knew Viviana’s true identity, and I planned to keep it that way. An image of her face flashed into my mind. No way would I trust the FBI with that information.

I would find her myself.

CHAPTER NINE

Viv walked along California Street, up the hill from the cathedral. At the top, residents of a high-rise apartment crowded the sidewalk. Most had flashlights. One had a transistor radio, and others crowded around listening to the news. At least they had homes they could probably go back to. She was alone and running in an unfamiliar world with little money and uncomfortable shoes.

She looked around in the moonlight. None of the buildings had collapsed. The pavement showed cracks here and there, but nothing big. Yet the shaking had been so intense in the church. She scratched her ear. Earthquakes could be—what was the English word?—fickle.

Sirens echoed from behind her, and fire engines arrived at the church. She turned and gazed past them toward the financial district and the Bay Bridge. Was that the glow of a fire in the distance?

On to Plan B. She clip-clopped along in her Swedish clogs toward Golden Gate Park. This area of the city wasn’t too bad off. Maybe the quake hadn’t been “the big one.” They might have had their big earthquake while she’d been flying through time. She had a lot of catching up to do.

But this quake had a huge impact on her, snatching her riches from in front of her eyes. What had Beckman said—or sung, really—“don’t worry, be happy”? Easier said than done. Can’t change the past. Things would work out. After all, she had jumped a full forty years into the future and was alive—she glanced at her missing pinkie—to tell about it. Or maybe not tell.

She walked for an hour and arrived at the edge of Golden Gate Park. The ill-fitting clogs pinched her feet. When she passed a closed McDonald’s, her stomach grumbled. Would anything open today? The power was still off.

She found a general store and peered in with cupped hands shading out the glare from the rising sun. Yes, it might have what she needed. The sign said it opened at nine, but today? An accordion-style security gate covered the storefront. The padlock was a good one. She looked up and down the sidewalk. Without tools, breaking in wasn’t an option.

Viviana crossed the street and lay down on a picnic bench. Maybe she would stop feeling sorry for herself when she woke. She fell asleep within minutes. The clatter of the security gate made her jump.

As she came up behind the shopkeeper, he said, “Cash only today. No power.”

“Is fine. Do you have sneakers?”

“Sneakers? You mean like running shoes, basketball shoes?” They entered the store together. “I have some Converse All-Stars over in that corner.”

Perfect. She found a pair that fit her. High-tops. “How about knife? Nice, sturdy knife?”

She left the store with the new sneakers, a cheap hunting knife, and a pack of beef jerky. She counted up her cash: $138.25 left. Dollar coins instead of bills, and no pennies in the cash register. Interesting.

Refreshed from her nap, and with happier feet, she hiked through the park. At first she didn’t recognize the cypress tree. She expected it to have grown, yes, but it now had a totally different feel to it. The landscaping had changed as well.

Few people were around. Who goes for a walk in the park after an earthquake?

With the knife in her back pocket, she climbed up the trunk on the side away from the path. She moved smoothly, with the grace of a jungle cat. Her hiding place would be no higher than it had been in 1980. Her planning had included research on how trees grow.

But the cylinder was gone.
Ack!
She gritted her teeth. So much for Plan B. Did she have the wrong tree? She leaned back and looked up. The wrong branch? Under cover of darkness, she’d carefully chiseled away a perfect little chamber, like the chamber in the columbarium, only smaller. If someone had found it, she’d at least see her excavation.

It had to be here. She looked at the branches again. This was the right location. Could it …?

She figured the exact spot she’d expect it to be and stabbed the knife in. Nothing. She worked the knife out of the bark and did it again. Oops, missed. Again, right into the hole from the first stab.

There. A hollow clunk. A smile spread over her face. She let her head fall back and took a deep breath.

The bark had grown over the stainless steel cylinder. Guess she hadn’t researched enough. She wiggled the knife to pull it out, and the handle came off in her hands.
La naiba!

“Hey, you can’t climb that tree!”

Oof!
She hadn’t been watching for people.

She looked down. Just an old buttinsky standing with his fists on his hips. She smiled and waved, descended, and headed off. No cylinder yet, but it wasn’t going anywhere. It had sat for forty years with the tree growing over it. Another hour or two would make no difference.

The man’s voice faded away. “Don’t you have any respect for nature? Who do you think you are?”

With a cup of coffee from an old-fashioned food cart, she sat cross-legged on the grass and finished off her beef jerky.

It was like a summer day. Was she confused about the time of year? She asked a passerby, “Is so warm for October, yes?”

The woman smiled. “The new normal, right?”

Viviana nodded. “Right.” New normal? What the hell did that mean? Ah, maybe they changed the calendar. The new-normal calendar? Maybe October is in summer now? No way.

She lay back on the grass, watching the gathering clouds. The private investigator is after me. Beckman. She smiled. Will he give up? Does anyone know who I am? Did anyone see me appear? Maybe time travel is common now. Why didn’t they let me watch TV at the hospital?

A video of her opening the cylinder played in her mind, its contents buying her freedom. Then she could relax.

First things first.
Need hammer and chisel. Maybe hatchet.
She counted out her remaining funds. Enough?

She looked up when the fattest man she’d ever seen, like someone from a circus, sat on a nearby bench. The slats groaned under his weight.

Viviana stood up and dropped her empty coffee cup into a trash can next to the bench. “Excuse me, is there cheap hardware store nearby?”

The man took a bite of his sandwich and a sip of coffee. “Sure. There’s one on Irving and Twenty-fourth, right next to the Goodwill store. But it might not be open today.”

She thanked him. A Goodwill store—secondhand goods. Perfect.

A block from her destination, the heavens opened up. She ran the last bit and found Goodwill’s door open with a “Cash Only” sign taped to it. Twenty minutes later she walked out with a hatchet. She wore some better-fitting jeans, a transparent poncho, and a thing called a fanny pack.

She hurried back to the tree. The thunderstorm was in full swing—just what she needed. No one would be in the park, and the thunder and rain would mask any chopping noises.

With the small ax zipped into her fanny pack—the handle sticking out—she climbed back up the tree and went to work. She was high enough that a fall would put her back in the hospital. It could kill her if she landed badly.

After ten minutes she had the cylinder exposed. Straddling the limb, she worked slowly, spacing out the blows in case someone could hear her. If a man hears one bang, he’ll wonder about it but go about his business. Multiple bangs? He’ll investigate.

What a long day. Was it really the same day she’d escaped from the hospital? She took a break, rolled her shoulders, and looked around. The park had weathered the earthquake well—only a few uprooted trees. She massaged her wrist. Back to work.

With her arms turning to Jell-O, a big chunk of bark popped out, fully exposing the stainless steel cylinder. She’d recovered the blade of the cheap knife, and she slipped it between the tree and the can. Giving the knife a twist, the canister exploded loose with a snap and flashed past her shoulder. Fear of a second failure destroyed all thoughts of caution. She reached back and grabbed for it, snatching it from the air before it fell to the ground. But she lost her balance and fell backward.

* * *

From my spot on the curb I watched the sun rise on the City by the Bay. Was some of the city now
in
the bay?