Chronica (14 page)

And from what he understood of Heron's motives, Flannery agreed with them. Heron wanted to keep the world as it was. That made sense. Because even if someone stopped a terrible thing from happening, like the assassination of John F. Kennedy, who knows what unexpected bad things Kennedy's survival might bring into play. Like that Ray Bradbury story he'd read as a kid in high school.

Flannery stopped at his secretary's desk when he reached his office. "Juliet, please have Detective Woodruff come in to see me." She was an attractive woman, but her long skirts drove him crazy. To her, they were provocative, because they showed some ankle. To him – well, Juliet reminded him of an Amish woman in that Weird Al Yankovic send-up of "Gangsta Paradise," flirting and sexually suggestive in a dress that went down to her mid-legs. These women in the 1890s had a lot to learn.

"Of course," Juliet said and smiled at him.

There was a knock on his door a few minutes later. "Come in," Flannery said.

Oliver Woodruff entered. He sported sideburns, a moustache, and a nice suit.
 

"I need you to find out what you can for me about Mary Anderson, an actress – her current whereabouts, home address, anything of interest," Flannery said.

"Very good," Woodruff nodded and left.

Flannery had made a decision by bringing Woodruff into this. Whatever Heron had meant by "if necessary," Flannery would not be making Mary Anderson disappear. He was a hired gun, yes, but he was no murderer.

***

Woodruff returned two hours later. "She wrote a book," Woodruff said. "I purchased this in Brentano's." He gave the book to Flannery.

Flannery looked at the cover and opened the book. "
A Few Memories
," he read the title from the front pages, "by Mary Anderson. Published by Harper and Bros, 1896."

"She's staying at this hotel, on 65
^th
Street, off Fifth Avenue," Woodruff said, and handed a piece of paper to Flannery with the address written upon it.

Flannery looked at it and nodded. "Very good. Anything else?"

"She fainted on stage in 1889," Woodruff replied. "The newspaper report said it was 'nervous exhaustion'. It was during a performance in Washington, DC. She announced her retirement with great fanfare shortly after. But my friend in the theater thinks she's due to come back soon, possibly in a play about Hypatia that's been in rehearsal on and off for years. She's an ancient Greek woman, right? – or maybe Egyptian, I'm not sure."

"That's very helpful," Flannery said. "Thank you, Detective."

Woodruff left, knowing better than to ask Flannery what all of this was about, if the Lieutenant had not volunteered the information.

***

Flannery called Mary the next morning. She was amenable to seeing him on short notice. "March is beginning to go out like a lamb," she said. "Does a walk in the park appeal to you as venue for our interview?"

Flannery told her that it did, and they met in the park, across the street from Mary's hotel, about an hour later.

He had been briefed by Heron about his goals, including retrieving the
Chronica
, when Heron had recruited him in 1990s New York City.

Mary took his arm as they walked in the park. At forty years old, she was ten years his junior, but to Flannery she looked much younger. He was glad there was no way his wife could see this stroll.

"We're investigating some threats that were made against William Henry Appleton, the publisher, based upon some long-standing grievances. I understand that you and Edwin Porter – the, photographer, I believe he is – tried to see Mr. Appleton earlier this month?"

"Yes," Mary replied.

"May I ask the reason for your visit?"

"Mr. Porter wanted to make a photo-play based on Charles Kingsley's
Hypatia
. Mr. Appleton apparently has a great interest in her – it is said he fell in love with her historical personage, and deeply regretted that his company, Appleton's, was not the publisher of the Kingsley novel. Mr. Porter thought Mr. Appleton might be ripe for an appeal to support the making of Porter's movie."

"I see," Flannery said. "And your role in this?"

"Why Lieutenant Flannery," Mary batted her eyelashes, "I was to be suggested as an actress who might portray Hypatia in the photo-play – I'm preparing right now for that part in a stage play of that story adapted from the novel by G. Stuart Ogilvie."
 

"I'll make sure I have a front seat for that," Flannery said.
 

"I shall look forward to it!" Mary replied.

Flannery smiled. "Has anything more come of Porter's idea for a photo-play?"

"Not that I know of," Mary replied. "We haven't spoken since last week. Perhaps he decided to pursue the idea with another actress." She pouted slightly, with a twinkle in her eye.

"I doubt that," Flannery said. "But to return to Mr. Appleton – he was unable to receive you?"

"Yes, he was indisposed – actually, ill might be a more appropriate word," Mary said.

"Did you actually see him? Did you believe him – perhaps he was just making an excuse?"

"I think not," Mary said. "Indeed, a doctor came to the house."

"Did you catch his name?" Flannery asked.

Mary furrowed her brow. "Dr. Stanley, I believe it was. Not the explorer," she added. "I met him once at a dinner in London!"

Flannery chuckled. "Thank you – that's very helpful. One more question, if I may, for now?"

"Of course," Mary said.

"Do you know Sierra Waters?"

Mary furrowed her brow again. "I don't believe I do. Is she an actress?"

"I don't believe she is," Flannery replied.

The two walked back to Fifth Avenue. As they started to cross the street, a motor car came towards them. Mary, making a point to Flannery, didn't see it. Flannery did. He made a split-second decision. Heron might well have wanted him to not pull Mary out of the way. For all he knew, Heron might have hired the driver. But that wasn't Flannery's style. And, besides, he liked Mary, and the fantasies he had been having about her as they walked in the park. He yanked her back, out of the way of the car, at the very last minute.
 

"Slow down, you mo--," he screamed at the car, one of those Duryeas, if Flannery was right. It didn't slow down a bit. It was only going a little faster than 15 miles an hour, Flannery reckoned. The turning point for likely pedestrian death by automobile was 35 mph – 2 out of 10 dead at 30, 5 dead at 35, 9 out of 10 dead from being hit by a car moving at 40 mph, Flannery knew -- but even 15 miles per hour was fast enough to badly hurt and possibly kill someone on direct impact.
 

"Sorry about the language," he said to Mary. He turned back to the receding car, waving his hand and gesturing to the sidewalk. "Pull over," he shouted, then realized the driver was out of earshot. He touched his chest then reached into his pocket for his radio, to summon police help, and found nothing -- of course not, walkie-talkies were more than fifty years away from becoming standard issue! He had a whistle, but there was no way the driver could hear that now. He turned back to Mary.

"Don't be sorry," she said, and kissed his cheek. "You saved my life!"

He brought her back to her hotel, and asked if he could see her again if further questions arose about Appleton.
 

"Of course," she said, and thanked him again.

Flannery watched her walk into the hotel and thought, she's a good actress but I'm a better cop. He was sure she was lying when she said she didn't know Sierra Waters.

***

Flannery took a Fifth Avenue motorbus or whatever they called this contraption downtown. He enjoyed looking out of the window. There was an optimism in this 1899 which was lacking 100 years later. Maybe it was the two world wars, maybe it was the atom bomb, who could say? But people were more cynical in the time he came from, and more innocent now. Heron had told him things would get worse in a quick hurry in the 21
^st
century. Flannery had asked him what he meant, and Heron had refused to answer. Maybe it was better that Flannery didn't know.

He also wondered if he really had saved Mary's life – if she would have died from the impact – and what that would have meant to history if he had let her die. Henry Bliss, as every traffic cop knew, was the first person to lose his life in New York City due to being struck by a motorized vehicle. That would happen in September of this very year, on the other side of the park, on West 74
^th
Street. But if Mary Anderson had just been killed, what would that have done to the history books, to his memories – this time travel stuff was mind boggling beyond belief! For that matter, he could now make sure that he was standing on West 74
^th
Street at the crucial moment when Bliss was hit – Bliss was exiting a trolley car on 8
^th
Avenue in the evening – but saving Bliss could also up-end history. Heron had strictly warned him not to interfere with any historically recorded events.

Flannery's big decision now was how much to tell Heron about Mary Anderson. If he told Heron that he believed she was lying about not knowing or knowing about Sierra Waters, that could amount to a death sentence for Mary. Because if Heron believed that Mary was working with Sierra, and Flannery refused to kill the actress, then Heron could find another way. Heron was obsessed with Sierra Waters.

On the other hand, bald-facedly lying to Heron about this – which is what leaving out a crucial piece of information, probably the most crucial in the interview, would amount to – could result in Heron severing their relationship and his paycheck, which would leave his family at bay a century from now.

Flannery was not one to ponder things too long. When Heron called him, shortly after he returned to police headquarters, he told Heron what he suspected about Mary Anderson. He didn't tell Heron about her near collision with a motorcar, and how he had saved her. "What would you like me to do next?" Flannery asked Heron. He didn't believe in waiting for the other shoe to drop – he preferred dropping it himself.

"This is very useful information – Mary Anderson responding to the name Sierra Waters – we can use it to our advantage," Heron replied.

"So you don't want me to—"
 

"Not at this point, no," Heron interrupted. "I believe you have the wrong impression of me – I don't like taking human life. I once even saved Sierra Waters herself, back in the ancient world, in what we today call Asia Minor, many years ago in my lifetime."
If only I'd known more back then
, Heron thought.

"Good," Flannery said, and exhaled quietly in relief. "Why do you suppose Edwin Porter asked Mary to come along with him to see Appleton? Is he part of this cabal to get your
Chronica
out to the world, too?"

"He is attracted to her, certainly, as no doubt are you, too," Heron replied, "but I doubt that is the reason he included her on his visit to Appleton. He likely knew of Miss Anderson's preparation to play Hypatia, and this made her appealing to take along to see Appleton, given the publisher's great interest in the woman." Heron tried to control himself from saying Hypatia with obvious venom, and wasn't sure he succeeded.

"Just coincidence, then, that Porter took Mary Anderson along to see Appleton, and she is on your radar?" Flannery asked with a little sarcasm. He knew from their discussions that Heron didn't believe in coincidence. "You know what 'radar' is? Yes – of course you do."

Heron nodded and ignored the jibe about coincidence. "Who knows how long Mary Anderson has been attracted to Hypatia. Kingsley's novel was first published in 1853 – it's been widely read. His story has little to do with real history, of course, but it's made Hypatia an object of desire for men and a heroine to be admired and emulated by many women. Sierra Waters and Mary Anderson no doubt came upon Hypatia in very different ways, but their attraction to her is no coincidence. The more I think about it, Sierra Waters contacting Mary Anderson, once she heard about Anderson's interest in Hypatia, makes perfect sense."

"And what does that mean for us?" Flannery asked.

"It means the problem we need to most address is not Mary Anderson but Sierra Waters," Heron replied. "She's the one who needs to be stopped, as she always has been. But I've been attempting to do that for so long, with so little success, that I am beginning to think she is protected by some fundamental law of the universe of which I am unaware." Or the next closest thing, Heron thought, something in the distant future that he knew too little about.

Chapter 8

[New York City, February, 1899 AD]

"To whom do you suppose William entrusted the translation of the
Chronica
?" Astor asked Sierra and Max, when the three were comfortably seated on the train back to Grand Central.

"One thing I love about you people back here is the precision you have with the language," Max observed. "It's degenerated a bit in my and Sierra's time."

"Thank you," Astor said.

"We already discussed Mark Twain and H. G. Wells with William in 1896," Sierra said. "Chances are if the translator was either of them, he wouldn't have been so cagey."

"You think he was being cagey?" Astor asked. "You don't take him at face value when he says he thinks it's safer that way?"

"Oh, I agree it's safer," Sierra said. "But I guess after all we've been through, I don't quite believe that William wouldn't tell us the name."

"He was trying to protect us?" Max asked.

"Yes, always," Sierra said. "But by not telling us who the translator is, William is preventing us from giving that translator
our
protection, which could be very important, too."

"He may also think the opposite," Astor said. "Keeping the translator's name secret may be the best way of protecting the translator."

Max nodded. It occurred to him that maybe Appleton didn't reveal the translator because he didn't fully trust Astor. He wondered if that's what Sierra was trying to signal to him now, with the upshot that he and Sierra needed to be careful about what they said to Astor. Max was sitting by the window, and looked out of it now to gather his thoughts without Astor's eyes on his face. So far, Astor had done nothing untrustworthy, and he'd had ample opportunity to hurt Sierra if that's what he'd wanted. If Astor was working with Heron, he could have easily arranged to have Heron's legionaries meet them at the National Conservatory of Music – he and Sierra would have been easy targets in that front row.