Timelines

By Bob Blink

After more than a year of exploring with time travel, Jim Crampton has become accustomed to traveling into earth’s past or future via the time complex he discovered by accident in the mountains outside of Seattle, Washington. Several things bother him however. Despite his technical skills he has made no progress in his attempts to understand how to control his destinations, or in understanding the basic operation of the time complex. Is there something special about the dates and locations pre-programmed into the machine? Is travel to times and places other than he has found even possible? There are clues that the answer to this question is yes, but he has yet to find a way to test what he suspects.

He has no more idea now than when he first chanced upon the time complex as to who or what built it, and why. Despite the hundreds of hours spent in the complex itself or traveling to other time periods, he has never encountered another traveler. The odd symbols on the equipment and what appear to be handwritten records lead him to suspect that the time complex was not created by future humans. If this is so, is there a sinister purpose behind the device, and why were the ‘Builders’ completely absent for so long? Perhaps they have finished their investigations, and have left. If so, why leave it powered and operational?

He is also concerned how the complex might be used if he reveals its existence to the wrong people, yet he has come to the conclusion that he needs help if he is to make any headway understanding the secrets locked inside the hidden complex. His decision to disclose the secret to two of his closest friends will set in motion a chain of events he could not have anticipated.

After a disastrous trip into the past to ‘show off’ his secret, Jim gains the trust of a fellow traveler from his own future. Together they assemble a select team to unravel the mysteries locked inside the complex. Their investigations lead to a race against time to determine the future of mankind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bob Blink
• Release date: Dec 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310538056

Bob Blink

I am a former satellite systems engineer who always wanted to write. Early attempts were always frustrated by the conflicts of school, working, or life in general. While I was in the Navy for a couple of years, my experiences were restricted to teaching at the Nuclear Power School, so I have no real combat experience. I attempted a novel I intended to call "The Long March Conspiracy" when I was working on a satellite launch in China. I intended for the Chinese rocket that was carrying a US satellite to be sabotaged and blown up. During the actual launch I was working, the satellite actually did blow up, although not because of nefarious activities as would have been the case in my plot. None the less, it didn't seem appropriate to continue with that story. Lack of free time was working against any progress anyway.Several years ago I retired and moved out of Los Angeles to Nevada, and found that I finally had sufficient time to see if I could create anything of interest. I write mostly for personal satisfaction, with stories that I find interesting to create. That said, I find great satisfaction that some of you find my writing enjoyable. Some books are stories that come to mind, while others are based on something my wife or friends have suggested they would like to see. While I know where a story is intended to go when I start, more than once a character in the story has been known to cause the intended direction of a tale to change.Several people have noted in comments that I might have an interest in guns based on the content of of some of the books. I confess I was an active shooting enthusiast at one time, and have tried to interject more accuracy in the use of weapons than some other authors. It has long been an annoyance to see how unaware many authors are when they equip their characters.I have an eight year old daughter, so writing has to been done when it doesn't conflict with her schedule. Normally I am up and work between 4 and 8 AM. Frequent notes are scribbled during the day when an important thought comes to mind.I greatly appreciate your comments, and hope that future books will be to your liking.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Present Day – Friday, 19 May 2006

Seattle, Washington

It was my gun. I could tell that from across the desk without having to see the serial number or looking for some of the identifying scrapes and scratches I had inflicted on it over several years of rough carry. Inspecting it would have been difficult in any case. Where the rock-hardened mud and filth had been broken or chipped away, the metal was corroded or rusted. The action was clearly frozen in position, and it was a wonder they had managed to recover a serial number from the weathered remains. The day I lost it a little over twelve years ago was still fresh in my mind. The circumstances surrounding its loss had made it impossible to recover, although we had tried. What were the chances of it turning up here and now? But it had, and it was going to be a problem. After all, how many of the heavy Colt Anacondas could there be, modified with the after-market combat sights I preferred, and looking as if they had been buried in the Arizona desert for a thousand years. Okay, 1468 years if you want to be precise.

I looked up at the two men who had moments before been escorted into my office, at least the one provided to me for the duration of my consulting assignment with Aero-Technologies. It was an assignment I now suspected would be ending much sooner than I had originally planned. The older of the two men stared at me with a cold intensity since placing the dirt encrusted, rusted, and broken remains of the revolver on the center of my papers without a word. The other agent, I was guessing here since they had displayed no identification, was a couple of decades younger than the first and closer to my age. He stood back a couple of steps and watched more with curiosity than hostility. I wondered if I could use that somehow. So far, no one had said a word. From their attitude and access I knew these two were government of some kind. The President of Aero-Technologies would not be escorting just anyone around the secure hallways of his company. I didn’t like where this might be headed, however little they really knew.

This is Jim Crampton, my boss had told the men unnecessarily when he had brought them into my office. The two agents knew who I was. They had come looking for me after all. Now they looked at me from across the desk. I wondered if I was what they had expected. At forty-four, I looked closer to my early thirties. Six foot-one, with light brown hair and an athletic build, I still kept in shape with a lot of walking and hiking. A physicist by training, I had moved into applied engineering, and was half owner in my own consulting business.

We can handle this from here, growled the senior agent.

I could tell that my boss was unhappy with the abrupt dismissal on his own turf. That, and his natural curiosity about what was going on, almost caused him to raise an objection and press to stay for the explanation that he expected from me. After all, we had become friends of a sort over the last five years and multiple assignments I had had with his company. My inputs had a significant impact on the bottom line and growth of the company from a small start-up to a leader in this area of secret government development. The fact his company served my own interests was unknown to him. More than once he had tried to bring me on board full time, but that would have conflicted with my true priorities and I had managed to duck the issue enough times he had let it go. Heavy leverage had been applied to him today, and after a few seconds during which he stared at me as if he could judge my guilt that way, he simply turned and left. The younger agent closed the door behind him and turned back to follow the lead of his superior.

Where did you find it? I asked innocently. It looks like the one I lost.

I figured I might as well get an admission in up front. They were clearly going to ask if I recognized it. There was no ducking the fact it belonged to me and they wouldn’t be here if they didn’t know that. My mind was having trouble staying focused on dealing with the immediate issues rather than trying to access longer-term implications to the whole team. I needed to know what these two knew or suspected. The fact that I was being questioned here rather than being hauled off somewhere was the only good sign since this interview had started.

Then you admit. . . ., started the younger one only to be cut off sharply by a hand gesture from the other.

I looked at the senior agent, if that’s what he was. Close to sixty, his sandy hair was thinning and starting to show the gray despite its natural color. Blue-gray eyes were set into wrinkled skin. His eyes appeared alert, suspicious, and oddly angry. He looked tired and worn out, yet somehow the effect seemed a relatively recent development. What had been a very fit body despite his age was showing signs of recent neglect as though something had caused him to give up.

Both he and his younger partner were dressed in casual sports clothes. No formal dark suits today and no ties. Whatever they were, they weren’t FBI. Still no identification or names though, and they had enough confidence in their authority that they didn’t need to display any. If I pressed, I’m sure they could show me all the identification and authority they needed to come question me in this manner.

Why don’t you just tell us your story? the senior one barked.

Story. What is going on here? I asked, pretending innocence. Has that gun been used in some sort of crime?

I knew that it couldn’t have, but I was trying to figure out what my expected reactions should be.

I don’t even know that it’s mine. I mean the one I lost. It sure looks the same. I can’t believe it could have deteriorated so much.

Oh, it’s yours alright. It took some doing, but the serial number was recovered and it checks with the number you have on file for such a revolver purchased new about fifteen years ago.

There was more to it than that, though. It wasn’t all he knew and he didn’t like what he didn’t understand. I got the feeling that he was quoting details someone else had handed him about the gun, and not facts he had uncovered himself. He was acting as though someone was playing a trick on him, and he wasn’t happy about it. And it was more than just the gun, although I had no idea what else might be bothering him. I looked more closely at the man. I was going to need to remember this individual and make sure the others would know him on sight. Whatever happened this afternoon, this one was not going away.

Tell us the circumstances that caused you to ‘lose’ it, he asked, with clear emphasis that he doubted it had actually been lost.

Well, I responded, trying to sound natural but trying to quickly organize my thoughts at the same time. I could tell him where without issue, but the when was going to require some finesse. I decided to adjust the time of the loss a few months.

It was about thirteen years ago, in the spring.

A lie. It had been in the dead of winter, right after Christmas. But he wouldn’t buy a camping trip at that time of year. Lisa and Pat had thought I was nuts when I suggested it.

I went on a two week trip into the San Francisco Mountains in north-west Arizona. A bit southeast of the Grand Canyon. Near a place called Humphrey’s Peak.

The location was at least accurate.

Who was with you? asked the younger man. I guessed he was hoping for a name that he could use to check my story.

I was alone, I replied carefully. I went camping alone a lot back then.

Another lie. I did go out on my own a lot for a while after my father and brother died in the boating accident. However this trip I was accompanied by two of my closest friends.

A nod of the head by the leader. So he had done some checking on my history.

Why there? he asked. I got the impression that you usually stuck closer to home, here in the mountains around Seattle.

I didn’t have a good answer for this. At least not one I could reveal.

I don’t really remember. Someone I met recommended the area as a change of pace. I thought I would give it a try. As it turned out, the hike was a bust. I lost the gun, and ended up coming home early.

And just where was the gun lost?

I described the area, although not the purpose, as best I could recall. I knew the area within a couple of miles where it had to have fallen out of the holster and gave them an accurate picture of the area and terrain. The younger agent was nodding his head as if he was somewhat familiar with the area and recognized the accuracy of my description.

But the other wasn’t having it. Interesting, he smiled slowly. But how come your gun was found over a hundred miles from where you say you lost it?

Someone found it, I exclaimed inadvertently.

Convenient, he responded doubtfully. Or perhaps you aren’t telling us everything?

Of course I wasn’t!

What were you shooting at? suddenly asked the younger agent. The older one quickly shot him a look to shut him up.

I hadn’t shot at anything, I lied. The gun was full when it was lost.

And it had been. I had reloaded it with the last of the cartridges I had brought with me. At that point I had had two spare rounds plus a full cylinder, a total of eight shots. By this time Lisa and Pat were both dead, and I was being stalked by at least a half dozen men intent on killing me.

Reluctantly the older agent responded since the issue had already been breached. I knew he had been planning on trying to trip me up with this point. Apparently, scanning tests of the rusted remains showed that all six chambers held expended brass cases. No loaded rounds remained in the gun.

So whoever found the gun had fired it. I casually wondered if anyone had been hurt.

I had to ask the obvious question, although I already knew they could have no idea how the gun had been used. Is that why you are here with all these questions? Was someone shot with my gun? It wasn’t me!

The older one started to warm to the issue of how the gun had been used. I guess because it was more along the lines of questioning that he felt comfortable. The younger agent was tiring of the game, and once again spoke what was on his mind to the frustration of the lead agent.

We don’t know how the gun was used, he said. But look at it. It didn’t get like that in a dozen years or so. Can you explain how your gun came to be found in a cave wrapped in a cloth that had been scientifically dated at over twelve hundred years old?

Damn it! They already had too much information, even if they didn’t realize it as yet!

Chapter 2

Twelve and a half years earlier

December 1993

Pat and Lisa knew I was up to something. They just couldn’t figure out what. It was a cold December weekend. The three of us, frustrated because there wasn’t enough snow for skiing this year, sat around the wood fire in their cabin with wine in hand after a superb dinner. I am sure they had noted that I had been more withdrawn than usual, but had chosen to let it go and see if I would explain what might be bothering me.

In truth, I had made a decision. It was just hard to actually take the first step. I had turned thirty-two the previous month and had no immediate family. My mother had died when I was three, and my brother and father a couple of years before in an accident. That accident had brought me back to Seattle after several years absence. It ultimately resulted in a career change from the secret government work I had been doing since graduating from Caltech in a very specialized branch of physics. Pat and Lisa were the closest I had to family. I had known both since elementary school. Pat and I grew up best buddies, and Lisa became attached to Pat during high school.

I had a secret I had been keeping from them for the past year and a half. Well, from them and everyone else. I had found something, something big. And I had kept it as my own special toy, exploring in wonder and amazement while trying to decide how to proceed. I now knew what IT did, although I had no idea about how it worked or who or what created IT. I had learned absolutely nothing about the working or origins at all. I couldn’t even activate any of the equipment or decipher any of the symbolic writing in the control area. And I had spent months trying.

I had decided it was time to go official. I just hoped to be part of the investigations that would follow, but had a limited trust of government secrecy and realized I could become an outsider. So, before taking the fateful step, I had decided to first show it to my closest friends, and seek their advice. Of course, I had to show them in my own way. You didn’t just tell someone about something like this.

And so, two days after Christmas, I somehow managed to drag them out into the freezing weather. I took them to the hidden cave a little more than an hour’s drive outside of Seattle, never mind where. We walked through deliberately darkened tunnels to the second cave where the gear I had accumulated the previous week lay in a pile. In addition to the backpacks we always had ready to go, there was food and water for a couple of weeks, sleeping bags, a couple of two-man tents, and three motorized trail bikes equipped with carry boxes on the rear. There was extra gasoline, although the enlarged tanks carried enough to cover the range I anticipated traveling this trip. Just in case, a few extra gallons had seemed prudent. The auto club wasn’t going to be on hand to help out this trip.

Pat was first to recognize some of his gear. You can’t be thinking we are going camping? In this weather?

Actually -- yes, I answered, as I unzipped my Northface jacket. I was already getting warm and noted that they had started slipping off gloves and hats as well. I think you will find it a bit more pleasant outside than you expect. Take a look.

I dropped my jacket on the pile and headed toward the front of the cave. Like the cave we had used to enter, the entrance to this cave was tight and would have been difficult to spot from the outside. Pat and Lisa trailed behind me talking together with Lisa shaking her head. They had their jackets unzipped now as well because the temperature was a pleasant seventy-five degrees in the cave, but unlike me they brought everything with them. They were prepared to bundle up as soon as we hit the cold wind outside. Of course, I knew better.

What the hell, exclaimed Pat, as he and Lisa made their way through the exit from the interior of the cave.

We were still in the mountains, with lots of pine and scrub brush all around. Here, however, instead of a blanket of snow, the ground was covered with the fresh blooming flowers of spring. There was a light breeze blowing instead of a winter gale and the temperature was already almost eighty degrees beneath a blue sky with almost no clouds. We had entered the other cave in mid-afternoon and here it was about ten o’clock in the morning. It was a beautiful day!

Confused, and full of questions, they quickly shed their winter gear and took a seat beside me on the rocks over looking the valley.

This is impossible, stated Lisa. We were in the cave less than ten minutes and now this.

Give, demanded Pat. Where the hell are we? And how?

I almost gave in at that point, but then decided to follow my original plan. I told you I had something I wanted you to see, I said. This is part of it. Two days. Give it two days. Pat, you’re the historian and part-time geologist. You tell me. Look around. You have your usual travel kit in the pack in the cave. But no questions for now. Let’s enjoy and explore. After two days, I’ll come clean if you haven’t figured it out.

Pat wanted to argue, but Lisa broke the impasse. She was enthralled by the beautiful day and the chance to get out and explore. She said something about getting her bike packed, and that got us all moving back to the gear inside.

Everyone emptied out their packs and put the contents into the motor bike storage. Food, fuel, and clothes went into the side and rear carryalls. Pat and I strapped on our handguns, something we seldom hiked without. He found his GPS unit while emptying the side pockets of the pack, and turned in on with glee. Deciding the cave was blocking his signal he hurried outside to get a reading. He was back in several minutes with a strange look on his face.

No signal, not a single satellite. That’s not possible.

No questions, not yet. We agreed, I responded.

After completing the loading, we wheeled the bikes outside into the sun. A quick radio check verified the trail radios were all on the same frequency and working. I didn’t expect us to be separated, not here, but it is best to be ready just in case. Lisa had tried her cell phone a bit earlier, but quietly shook her head when she failed to get coverage, and didn’t say anything to Pat or me. We were ready to go, so I pointed out a direction, roughly northwest and down the canyon into the flats beyond.

The rest of the day was pleasant. All of us became lost in the moment. Freed from the clutches of winter, racing through open country on our bikes, we made good time down into the more arid country ahead. We camped early by a large stream, eating freeze-dried trail food despite the abundance of rabbits we had seen through the day. The sound of our bikes had driven them out of hiding all along our path. I broke out the bottle of wine I had hidden away and we drank to the promise of answers the following day. As dark approached we all retired early, bodies weary from excitement and the workout provided by hours of motorbike riding.

The morning was filled with the promise of another fantastic day. Everyone was up early, and Lisa had breakfast going while Pat and I broke camp.

Southwest, mumbled Pat through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. It looks like we are somewhere in the southwest. But the season is wrong.

I smiled at him as I poured the rest of my coffee into the ground and headed off to finish packing away my gear. I could tell he had accepted the challenge, and was trying to sort it out. I knew he and Lisa had been talking about it after settling in last night.

We made good time across the flat the rest of the day. By mid-afternoon you could see the beginnings of the canyon ahead. By evening as we scouted for a campground, Pat pulled up along side.

Grand Canyon, he said triumphantly, pointing at the gorge ahead. I know this area pretty well. It’s gotta be. But I’ll be damned how we got here. And another thing, things are missing.

Missing? I responded.

Yah. We are still a ways from the main canyon, but even out here there should be roads, and I am pretty sure we should have passed a couple of small towns back a ways. So, I’m right. Tell me!

You figured out part of it, I admitted as I spotted what I had been looking for. Let’s set up camp over by those rocks, and I’ll tell you the rest. I had camped by the rocks before, and there was a reason I wanted to stay there tonight. I thought it might help Pat accept the reality of the situation.

An hour later we were finishing dinner and I had walked them through what I had found and been doing the past couple of years. Lisa thought I was kidding, but surprisingly Pat had already accepted. I guess what he had seen primed him for acceptance.

A time machine, he said quietly. You found a damned time machine. And no one seems to own it, or be using it. No idea where it came from, or why it is there? So, ‘when’ are we right now? This isn’t the twentieth century anymore. That explains the change in season. And more, it also can move you in space as well. We started in Seattle and now we are near the Grand Canyon. When? When is it Jim?

I wanted to laugh. Here was the same enthusiasm I had had when I first realized what the machine did, although machine was probably the wrong term. I had seen very little machinery, mostly a large center with half a dozen rooms. There was the large central room with the twenty tunnels leading out to different periods of earth history, but the closest to machinery was one enclosed area that seemed to hold equipment to provide power. I didn’t really know, as I had never been able to enter that space and had not figured out how anything worked. I could not even activate what had to be computers, even though they were clearly powered and running.

This one was difficult, I said. It seems this is somewhere in the early 500 AD range. Some star mapping gives a hint, even if I am not that good at it, as does the remains of the campsite I showed you when we were unpacking.

Chinese, Pat mused. Clearly there were Chinese here, but how is that possible? If you are right, America hasn’t even been discovered yet, and. . . He stopped and looked at me in disbelief. Hoei-Shin? he asked me softly.

I think so, I replied. It would fit.

What are you talking about? Lisa broke in suddenly, realizing the conversation had gotten away from her.

Hoei-Shin, Pat said quietly. A Chinese missionary said to have discovered America before Columbus, even before the Vikings. Some historians claim he found America around 500 AD and explored the southwest and parts of Mexico. Of course it wasn’t Mexico then, er now. He even visited the Grand Canyon, describing the colored walls of the endless canyon after returning home. Experts have examined the ocean currents and the likely route and found the journey very possible with the ships they had at the time.

My God, said Lisa. We’ll have to rewrite our history books.

How about changing history, Pat said suddenly. Have you tried to change anything?

Nope, I mumbled through a mouthful of trail bar. I haven’t wanted to mess with anything. I have no idea of the consequences.

But you have a time machine, Lisa objected. If you don’t like what you do, you can always use the time machine to go back and stop yourself from making the change.

Doesn’t work that way, I explained. The time tunnels can take us to a number of periods in time. The times to which they take us are all fixed, at least I have no idea how to control or change them. And all are moving forward at the same time rate as we are. Consider here and now. We have been here two days. That is now history here. We cannot go back and change what we did yesterday. Anything we do is done, same as in our normal time. You shoot someone you cannot go back and un-shoot him. If we were to go home right this instant having been here some fifty-six hours now, fifty-six hours would have passed at home.

That’s not how it’s supposed to work, Lisa protested.

And probably doesn’t for the builders of the device, I admitted reluctantly. It’s one of the things I have wondered and worried about. Should I turn this over to a government that might be able to discover how to manipulate history? I don’t think I trust any government that far. But who put the device there in the first place and what are they up to?

So to where, or rather when, does it go? asked Pat, not knowing how to respond to my expressed concern. You must have explored quite a bit in the couple of years you have kept this secret. I thought there was a hint of rebuke in his tone. I should have included him from the start.

"It seems somewhat random. In addition to different times, it seems the tunnels always open into a different area, although always hidden in a cave or the like. Several of the tunnels open into times and places I have yet to identify. One appears to be significantly in the future, but everything is abandoned and destroyed. Another is even further in the past. There are two tunnels that open into relatively near term future, and several into the past couple of centuries in both America and Europe. And there are two that are closed and go nowhere. If there is a pattern or reason, it eludes me.

I don’t understand why no one has stumbled onto this before, questioned Lisa. That cave isn’t so well hidden that someone else wouldn’t have found the opening.

It takes a key, I admitted, giving away one of the last secrets. You go into the cave without the key and all you see is the back wall of the cave. No opening, no tunnel, no way to access the control center.

How is that possible? asked Pat. And how did you get a key and learn to use it?

I found it by accident when I was using the cave for shelter. I didn’t know what it was. As for using it, that was the easy part. It simply has to be with you. Proximity seems to trigger the opening.

Pat became anxious to get back and see the control center for the device, and perhaps explore a couple of the tunnels. Lisa objected. We had lots of time for that. Here we were, a vacation paradise to ourselves. We had almost ten days before Pat had to be back to work. She insisted on a week to relax and explore. So we stayed. We traveled down to the main canyon, and explored areas that wouldn’t see another white man for hundreds of years.

We also talked and planned on how we would reveal the device to the world. The ‘Builders’ might be able to discover our activities and go backwards in time and undo what we planned to do. Perhaps, but we had to try. We simply didn’t know what the capabilities and restrictions might be. On the other hand, there would be no turning it over to a government. We felt we would involve a group of world scientists first, and in secret, and then see how things developed. We agreed it was imperative to learn what the device was being used for and who had put it in place.

I lay awake in my tent satisfied that now I had a couple of allies in this adventure. I had heard Pat and Lisa head away from the campground a bit earlier. We were on the way back now, and could have made it last night, but Lisa had pressed for one more night here in the wilderness. It would be an easy two-hour ride back, and then I would show them the rest of my discovery. At least I would give them a first look at the control center. Then we would go back home and start contacting professionals in key fields around the world. We had planned on a way to ensure their attention.

Suddenly Lisa screamed. She was down by the river, a couple hundred yards away, but the sound of it carried easily in the still morning air. Fearing an animal attack, I grabbed the heavy Colt as I ducked through the entrance of the tent and headed out into the morning sunlight. With the sound of her cry to direct me, I found her almost immediately. She was racing toward a fallen Pat, who lay unmoving on the ground, a large wooden shaft protruding through the left side of his chest. Somehow I knew even then the wound was mortal. Moving to intercept her was a compact, powerful male, clearly the owner of the spear that had taken Pat’s life. He had long black hair flowing free, no beard, and was lightly covered in a variety of animal skins. I was too far to be able to help, but fired the Colt into the air hoping the sound might provide a distraction. Firearms were not known at this time and the sound of the shot would be unexpected. A friend had once told me he had read that when Indians first encountered Europeans in America they had always fled at the sound of firearms. This guy hadn’t read that book. Maybe he was made of sturdier stuff. I now wondered if we had been watched for a while. We certainly hadn’t tried to hide our presence. Maybe he had watched Pat and my aborted attempts to take a deer the other day. That would mean he would have been exposed to the sound of firearms before. Some of the mystery and fear would have been lost by that exposure.

While the man didn’t take off as I hoped, the shot worked at least in part. The man stopped and turned his attention in my direction. That gave Lisa the chance to perform a quick sidestep and rush by the intercepting warrior. She ran to Pat and knelt beside him. Meanwhile the Indian, I assumed that was what he was, decided I was too far to be an immediate threat and could be dealt with later. Besides, I belatedly realized, he had friends! He turned away and started toward Lisa, who still knelt on the ground next to her fallen boyfriend.

I was running as fast as I could, but was too far away to be of any help. I tried another shot, this time in the general direction of the advancing man. But there was no chance of getting an accurate shot off at this distance with my heavy breathing. I had hoped it might kick up some dirt near the man and buy a bit more time. The shot must have gone high, into the stream, as I didn’t see any effect. He had already discounted me as a threat. He continued towards Lisa undeterred. At least one other individual had turned and was starting in my direction.

Perhaps Lisa had heard the shot, or had sensed the advancing enemy. Pat would have been proud. She took his years of defensive training to heart. Grabbing the little Smith and Wesson Mountain revolver from his holster, she suddenly stood and turned. She didn’t warn, she didn’t threaten, but simply raised the revolver and put two quick shots into the advancing man’s chest where they could do the most good. The two custom flat nosed 44 Special slugs did the trick. Pat had only loaded the magnum rounds in the revolver if there was a bear threat. The man stopped, and then crumpled to the ground without a sound, never knowing what had happened to him.

Neither Lisa nor I had seen the second one advancing through the trees behind her. Just as she finished shooting he stepped out of the trees, and with a roundhouse swing, caught her broadside in the head with his heavy club. The club crushed her skull and the follow-through lifted her off her feet and over the edge of the riverbank. She fell the six feet into the swirling waters and was gone. I knew she was dead before hitting the water.

And now I was the target. The one on the right and the one that had killed Lisa were now both moving in my direction. I looked back towards the camp and saw that two others were coming through the tents of our camp and were also headed my way. That meant left was the only possible direction for escape, which for the moment looked clear. It was relatively open ground with a slight incline for a couple of hundred yards. Then the ground turned rocky with a rapidly increasing slope thick with brush. At least that offered cover as well. I turned towards the hill and started running for my life.

They were running as well, and were far faster than I. Only my proximity to the hill provided me with a chance to reach cover ahead of the attacking party, and even so one of them was only fifty feet behind me as I hit the slope. I ran a short distance up the mountain and ducked around a large rock. I could hear footsteps behind me. I crouched with the Colt held ready. As the Indian rounded the back of the rock, partially disoriented coming from bright sun into the shade of the large pine tree where I waited, I shot him in the chest. The 325-Grain .45 caliber LBT bullet smashed through bone, ruptured his heart, and dropped him instantly. I didn’t wait to watch. I knew what the bullets would do having used them on wild pig in the past. He never had a chance. I turned and continued up the ravine as fast as I could, hoping the downed warrior would slow the others. It worked, at least for the moment. They had two warriors down by unknown means. Both the girl and I had some magic that killed without obvious cause. They stopped to examine their friend, giving me more time to scramble uphill and into cover.

Now they were more careful. They had given me a significant lead, but were still tracking me. No longer grouped together, they took advantage of the cover as they worked their way in my direction. I was tired. No food since the previous night, and no water as well. That, plus fear and tension, were sapping my strength. I was not trained for this and knew I couldn’t last too much longer. At least I had managed to work my way in a large circle, and was almost back where I could get to the camp. I figured my only hope was to get to one of the bikes, jump on it, and out-distance them. Even if they could follow behind, tracking my direction by the sound and the distinctive tire tracks, I could get where they would be unable to find me in an hour or so. I wondered pointlessly if the sound of our exploring on the bikes the past week had brought us to their attention or whether it was simply a chance encounter. I had seen no one on any of my previous trips here, one of the reasons for choosing this place for this particular expedition.

I could see a couple of them now. I fired a shot in their vicinity, smacking the bullet into a nearby rock. They learned quickly, and ducked back behind solid cover. Now they had significantly closed the distance. No more procrastination. I had to make the break into the open for the bikes now, or they would be too close. They wouldn’t be able to see me leave, so hoping the last shot would hold them long enough, I prepared to turn and run.

The clatter of a loose rock was not sufficient warning, and I was only able to twist partly out of the way as the sharpened wooden spear cut through my back and out my left side. I was finished. The pain was excruciating. Only the fact I had fallen on my gun, and the Indian’s act of pulling out the spear for another thrust had turned me over enough to make a lucky shot, saved me. I don’t know where I hit him, but the warrior fell down the ravine in sight of the others that ducked back into cover at the sound of the shot and the sight of their friend falling in their direction.

I was bleeding badly. I was also almost out of ammo. My side was on fire, but at least both arms still worked. As quickly as I could I dumped the empties and reloaded. Full up with five more in my pocket. That was it. I missed the four shots I had wasted earlier in the week trying to pot a deer for dinner. It was time to go. I thumped another shot into the rock next to where the group was hiding, encouragement to stay put, and turned and started out of the rocks and down toward the tents. It was maybe fifty yards to the bikes, and I was halfway there when they saw me.

I could only manage a brisk walk, and that wasn’t going to last long. They were spreading out and coming up behind me, cautious that I might turn to shoot at them. The bike had to start first try, or it was over. Pat’s bike was ten feet closer, but it had a history of hard starts first thing in the morning. I wobbled the extra ten feet to the bike I knew well. Luck was with me, and it kicked over immediately. The sound caused the advancing group to duck for a minute, there were five of them now, and I started down the hill half laying on the seat.

The first rock almost dumped me. What would normally have been a slight bump caused me to gasp and slack off on the throttle. I wobbled a bit and managed to regain control. Slower, I told myself. I just need to outrun them. I gained about one hundred yards and saw another coming out of the trees off to the right ahead of me. He was starting to angle in my direction. I pulled up, and fired two shots in his direction. Neither came close, but he had seen enough and decided to head back into cover. I put the revolver away and started out again, slower, angling away from where I had seen the last enemy.

Gradually I got further ahead, until they were lost in the distance. I don’t know whether they gave up or continued to track me. It hardly mattered. The bike made enough noise they could tell my general direction for a long time. I stopped and replaced the three spent shells just in case. I never knew if more of them were somewhere ahead of me. The two-hour trip back to the cave took more than five hours. I fell from the bike several times as I continued to lose blood and strength. As I approached the cave it was all I could do to stay awake.

The last fifty feet were too steep for the bike in my condition. I simply let it drop and crawled up the hill and through the entrance. Inside the cave I found the remains of our hasty packing days before. There was spare water that I desperately needed. I tried to tie my shirt around the wound, but hadn’t the strength to do a decent job. I grabbed my Northface jacket, which I would need on the other side. Somewhere along the way I had lost the Colt, probably in one of the falls from the bike, but I would soon be inside where they couldn’t find me. I couldn’t kid myself though. I was still in deep trouble. On the other side it was freezing cold, and while I had my cell phone in the car, past experience had shown that I needed to get at least ten miles down the road before there would be service. Probably further if the weather was still bad. After resting a bit, I forced myself up. I was too wobbly to stand and so crawled my way to the tunnel room of the control complex.

Inside the complex, my reserves were gone. I could see the tunnel I needed to take to get home, but I needed to rest. I passed out on the floor. It was there that Karole found me and everything changed!

Chapter 3

Present Day

They credited my momentary lapse to confusion or surprise. Oh come on, I managed to say, trying to get my thoughts back to the present. What kind of nonsense is this?

I didn’t get an answer, but the older one took back control. You knew Kurt Morris? he asked in a sudden change of direction.

The new line of questioning surprised me. Of course I knew Kurt, but that was another direction I didn’t want this discussion to go. He had been a thorn in our side for a number of years, until he ‘disappeared’ about a year ago. But he had never had any connection to the gun in front of us.

Of course I knew Kurt, I responded with genuine confusion in my voice. He owned one of our competitor firms, and was often at odds with us, sometimes with a great deal of hostility for reasons we never understood. I looked at him with anticipation.

You know he disappeared a little over a year ago. No trace. No hint of foul play. Nothing.

I did, but said nothing, merely nodding my head.

I was responsible for investigating his disappearance, he informed me.

I hadn’t known that, but it still didn’t explain what that had to do with his visit with me today.

I failed to find a thing, he continued without interruption. First time ever I failed so completely. He just disappeared one day along with a couple of his people. A real black mark on my record. His eyes found mine. I haven’t given up you know. It’s surprising what can turn up if you keep looking. His gaze traveled to the rusted mess on my desk.

Oh, I know you and that pretty boss of yours, or is it co-owner, were nowhere around when he went missing. My investigation showed you both were continuously in Washington for some pretty high-level contract meetings for several weeks either side of his disappearance. I also know the gun has nothing to do with that. Still, he didn’t like you, he said, looking back in my direction. Or trust you either.

I knew that. It wasn’t a secret. Do you think his disappearance and my gun..., I started.

He went on as if I hadn’t spoken. He had a lot of stuff hidden. A whole room. His family found a hidden basement in his house when they were making repairs in preparation to sell the estate. Most of it appears to be odd bits and pieces that he has collected from around the world over many years. Unconnected, and yet. . . He paused for a minute, then continued. There are some state of the art computers, with megabytes of files. All encrypted. Sophisticated encryption according to our people. We haven’t broken it yet.

I wondered if they would. Morris was a crafty old bird, and had some very clever people working for him. He had old money and was willing to use it to further his goals. I didn’t know much about codes and such, but I thought I had read that there were some that were simply unbreakable. I’d bet if there were he had used something like that.

And he got the gun somewhere, the agent continued. Claims in his notes he had it for more than twenty-five years. His records claim the carbon dating age Jeff here just told you. Don’t know about that, but we will have to run some tests ourselves. Colt didn’t recognize it when he first approached them, and only a few years ago discovered who it belonged to. What do you think of that?

I didn’t know how Morris had gotten the gun, but he could have had it that long. Even before it was manufactured. That must have given him pause. The odds against it were incredible, but it would help explain his persistent interest in our group.

That’s bullshit, I replied. They didn’t even make them twenty-five years ago. Wait a minute, and now I looked at him. I thought you said all his files were encrypted?

That’s another odd thing, he replied. Other than a few labels and notes, everything was. Except for a few pages of clear text stored with the gun. It was almost like he had plans to show this to someone? He looked at me questioningly.

I shrugged. Sounds too convenient, and too far-fetched. Almost like a setup of some kind.

I was willing to bet he had planned to show it to someone, probably me. I could see him confronting me with this mystery. He had been more forward the last months, as though he was becoming more and more frustrated with something. And he was getting older. Now I suspected he wanted some answers before his time ran out. This reminded me we had neglected the Morris situation for far too long. This was another reason to follow-up.

A lot doesn’t make sense, and I agree his claims seem a little hard to accept. We will see what our labs bring back in a few weeks.

It seemed we had gotten off track. The younger one, Jeff, seemed restless, and like he wanted to say something. Yet he had been slapped down enough and suffered in silence. I was at a loss of what to say as well. Nothing had really been accomplished by their visit, but it seemed we might be done. Then, the agent confirmed I had a very serious problem on my hands.

For a studious, scientific type, it seems a little risky being around you, he said, the predator look back in his eyes. Your brother and father were killed in an unusual boating accident, and you inherit a fair bit of money. Then, a few months after you claim to have lost this gun, two of your friends vanish. Completely! Neither has been heard from, no bodies, nothing, and that’s been more than a decade. You and another unknown, Carol Martens isn’t it, start up a specialized consulting business that is an instant success. Major contracts in the first year and growing demand all the time. Then, six years ago a couple of your company’s employees are killed in an odd fire at an out-of-the way facility. Last year a significant business competitor also disappears, and he has this missing gun hidden in his possession with the improbable history.

He paused. Then he stood up, reaching out and picking up the gun from my desk as he did so. I’ve got time. I think that maybe I need to do a little more looking in detail into you and your friends. And, he finished, shaking the remains of my gun in his hand. We’ll see what type of real mystery exists with this. He motioned to the one I knew only as Jeff, and they headed towards the door.

I’ll be in touch, he said with a smile.

I knew he would be more than in touch. I was certain that I would be receiving far more attention than I could withstand. Part of our approach had been to avoid the wrong kind of attention, while gaining access to the information and people we needed. The question now was what to do about it.

Chapter 4

I looked at the clock and realized it was almost 3:30. They had stayed over an hour. The visit hadn’t seemed anywhere near that long at the time. The departure of the two Feds left me very uneasy rather than panicked. I was also uncertain what had really been accomplished. They had made me aware they had a mystery on their hands. I had also learned that at least one of them had some interest in me, mostly generated by the discovery of a gun that clearly had no relationship to the disappearance of Kurt Morris. A disappearance that seemed to consume the older agent. In fact, thinking back on the meeting, they had told me more than they had learned. I also had the feeling that the investigation really hadn’t progressed very far, and I wondered just how long ago the Feds had discovered Morris had my gun hidden away. Not long, I now suspected. I also wondered if this visit was more ‘unofficial’ than it seemed. Perhaps the visit didn’t have the backing of a formal investigation within their organization. Not yet anyway. He seemed like the type to be persistent, and if he was able to get some supporting scientific data that backed up even some of what Kurt Morris had apparently written down, official backing from his organization would surely follow. Damn Morris! Just when and where had he gotten my revolver? I was already wondering if there was a way to use the device to go back and get it before it was discovered? Even if that kind of action violated one of our key ground rules to minimize any changes to the timeline. Especially making changes to critical events. History had shown itself to be tolerant of some interference, but we didn’t have a clear idea just how far we could take our meddling. The revolver seemed to have become a very crucial part of the time history.

Perhaps their tack was to unsettle me enough that I might take some action that would help them with their mystery. Well, they were partly correct. It would be necessary to inform the others, although little could be done until the morning when Carol returned unless I wanted to trigger an alert, and thus far the situation didn’t seem to call for that kind of action. Not yet anyway. The men had been fishing. However, the situation had the potential to grow out of control and cause a total relocation of our efforts. For now, I wanted to get out of here. If they were watching me, leaving early would certainly raise their interest level, but my boss would be back as soon as he learned of their departure. He would be full of questions, and I didn’t want to deal with him today. I looked around the office. There were stacks of documents, proposals, test reports, as well as drawings and models for various levels of construction on current and past projects. All of it belonged to Aero. Only the laptop was mine, and that contained nothing of interest other than work. I decided to leave it as well. It did contain some current work documentation, and I didn’t want any issues with leaving with company proprietary information, even though it normally went with me every night. This time, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be back.

It took only a moment to clear off the desk and lock the computer and proprietary papers away. I slid back my chair, stood up, and walked over to grab my sports coat. I slipped it on and headed out the door, only to be intercepted by Doris Marshall, the group secretary who was responsible for all of the consultants in this wing of the building, myself included. Fiftyish, and still quite attractive, she had been with Aero since it’s founding, coming over with a handful of others when Dan started the company and brought key startup talent with him. She was one of the most efficient secretaries I had ever seen, and cared for the people she supported.

They didn’t haul you away in chains? she asked with an attempt at lightness. I could tell, however, that she was concerned and was hoping to learn what the visit was all about.

I had them out-numbered, I started to joke back with her. Then I thought about it for a second. Whatever I told Doris would get back to Dan in short order. I didn’t want to explain the purpose of the visit to him directly because he would dig for detail, and would ask far too many questions I didn’t want to answer. Also, he would get annoyed and use his contacts to push back on the Feds, something I didn’t want either. That could only serve to accelerate their interest, something our group didn’t need at this point. I had to approach the visit carefully. Deciding to give them something approaching the truth, I hoped I could satisfy everyone’s interest and prevent Dan taking any immediate action. The Feds hadn’t told me to avoid talking about the interview, not that I would care much if they had.

They have a mystery on their hands, and wondered if I could shed any light on it, I said, now more serious than a moment before. I hoped the transition in my attitude came across naturally. You remember the big story about a year ago when Kurt Morris went missing? I asked her.

She nodded her head. I knew she would remember, having supported a number of his people here. In fact, several of the firm’s consultants were still here working on a couple of on-going programs. I wondered what they would think when the story started to circulate.

The two men who just left have been in charge of the investigation, and apparently are still working part time on it.

She interrupted me. That’s why the older one looked so familiar. Now I remember him. His name is Williams. He is from the National Security Group, and spent a lot of time asking people questions when it happened.

Thank you Doris. I had planned to have Carol task one of our people check out the people who had investigated the disappearance. I had hoped we could get a handle on these men. I’d still have her check, but Doris had just simplified the task immensely.

I continued with what I had been about to say. They recently found some additional documents and papers in his house, I explained, and among all of this stuff they found a gun I had lost more than a dozen years ago.

Her eyes widened at the mention of the gun, and I could guess where her imagination was headed.

No, it’s not like that, I hastened to add. You should have seen it. It was rusted and corroded beyond recognition, and obviously hasn’t been used since I lost it many years ago.

Then why would they care about it? she asked.

Well, I suppose there are all kinds of possibilities they could be thinking about. After all, Morris and I were never on the best of terms. Maybe they are wondering if the gun somehow has something to do with that. In any event, isn’t it a bit strange that he would have the gun I lost all those years ago and I wouldn’t even know it? They are just looking for some explanation, and since he isn’t around they came to me as the most likely candidate. They had hoped I might be able to shed some light on when and where he had found it and why he might still have it. Unfortunately, I can’t help them. I’m surprised as anyone to have it show up like this. I looked her right in the eyes. I have read that direct eye contact convey a sense of sincerity and trustworthiness. I certainly needed something.

She was still trying to absorb it all and put it together in her mind. I wonder where Mr. Morris found it? she said, more to herself than me.

Boy, wouldn’t I like to know that myself!

Maybe they will find out. After all, they just seem to have found the revolver recently, along with a lot of other odd stuff he appears to have accumulated over the years. Play it down, I thought. Make it sound like just another piece of junk he had accumulated, all having little value or meaning. But I knew otherwise. His possession was of monumental importance. I considered telling her the most interesting bit; the part about the note indicating the gun was older than it could possibly be. But that wouldn’t do. While it would belittle the men from the NSG, and make it harder for them to pursue their investigations, it was the type of story we didn’t need floating about either. And Dan would be so angered by the ridiculousness of the whole thing I was sure he would take action I didn’t want. No, better to leave it like this. Doris would share the news with a few, and the story would get around.

You look like you’re leaving, Doris noted. Dan wanted to see you after the others had left, she added.

I had suspected that. However, I had other plans and would count on Doris passing on my edited version of the interview to him. I have to go out. Carol called and wants to bring me up to speed on some important developments on that propulsion project Dan is hot to close on, I lied.

I thought she was out of town until tomorrow, Doris responded. Dan tried to get her on something yesterday.

She is, I improvised. I forgot Doris had a pretty good handle on what our key people were up to during the critical phase of this proposal. She wants to video conference in a couple of people before she leaves the East Coast tonight. The conference setup is over at our office, and it’s three hours later where Carol is. She has a late plane to catch, but we can still get this in.

I was getting better at lying. I’d had a lot of practice in the last few hours. Actually, Carol was already on a plane for home and I could count on an early sit down with her in the morning.

Tell Dan I’ll be in Monday morning, probably late morning. He and I can talk then. I was glad I hadn’t taken anything with me out of the office. It looked like I was rushing off to a meeting, leaving everything in place for the morrow’s work. No hint that I might not be returning.

Doris wasn’t happy with the situation. After all, her boss had said make sure I talked with him before leaving,