Close Up the Sky (20 page)

"Oh, it's an
old formula invented by the Egyptians to embalm important people. You
know," he said with a chuckle. “Mummy juice."

Pierce's face
assumed a blank expression. He stared at Garrett for a long moment while his
mental wheels turned. At last he grunted to himself, turned and went out the
door. Just as he got to his car his cellphone rang. He checked the number and
recognized it as his office. He opened the flip and said, “Pierce.”

"We've got a
problem, Sarge," said the voice on the other end. It was Vivian Honeywell,
the secretary in homicide.

"So what is
it?" he asked.

"The city
garbage service found the body of a white male at the airport a few minutes
ago. It was stuffed in a dumpster. They want you over there right away."

"Any
details?"

"Not many. Looks
like it may be one of the military guys from that base in the desert or
something. His face is really mutilated, like it’s been beaten with some kind
of blunt object. Been dead at least a week. There are two uniform cars securing
the scene."

"How do they
know it's a military person?"

"The
responding officers searched the dumpster and found some papers with blood on
them that might have belonged to the dead guy. One of them was a letter in an
envelope from a woman who may have been his wife or girlfriend. The letter
indicates that he was a soldier or something."

"Okay, I'm on
the way."
One military type in the
hospital close to death from ingestion of
drugs that the crime lab can't identify, and now another one dead at
the airport
, he thought.
Damn strange
to say the least.

He flipped on the
blue lights and headed for the airport.

T
hough Leahy had
discovered some interesting information in the computerized expedition reports,
he had learned nothing that might aid in solving his brother’s disappearance. He
was about to discontinue reading them when the machine refused to allow access
to a file attachment. Each time he hit the small paperclip icon at the bottom
of the file, a window popped up reading
ENTER
PASSWORD.
No matter how many times he tried, he got the same result. He
thought it was strange since none of the other files contained attachments. If
Edward had seen fit to protect this particular document he must have had a good
reason. Leahy knew more about his brother than any other person, and he was
confident that he could break the password if given enough time. Edward had
never been a complicated man, so the correct password was probably
uncomplicated as well.

He leaned back in the chair and rubbed his eyes. It was cool in Durant's
office, but a thin film of sweat glistened on his upper lip. He rubbed the
perspiration away with the back of his hand and shook his head. Lack of sleep
and hours of forced concentration were taking their toll. It was times like
this when he really missed having a cigarette and cup of coffee.

The digital clock on the desk showed 8:33 AM. He had left Taylor asleep
and slipped away before dawn to start working on the files. Both of them had
been exhausted, so he had not awakened her. She would be up by now, on her way
to meet him, probably furious at having been left behind.

The thought of her brought a smile to his face. In the last few hours she
had removed all the bitter emotions that had plagued him since his divorce and
had given new direction to his life. They had given themselves to each other
completely, holding nothing back. For the first time in many years he felt
whole. Finding her had more than balanced the tumultuous events surrounding his
experiences at Apache Point. From now on, whatever happened to him he would
consider it worth the cost. His only regret was the wasted years.

He got up and stretched his back muscles, glancing down at the computer
screen.
ENTER PASSWORD
still flashed
in the window. "Damn your eyes," he said to the computer.

He was about to turn the machine off when the door opened and Durant entered.
Someone whom he instantly recognized was close behind the scientist. It was
Mike Summerhour, one of the NSA agents from Atlanta. He was not surprised to
see the man, having just read his name several times in the computer files as
working with Edward on various expeditions.

"Good morning, Matt,” Durant said. “I believe you two gentlemen have
met," he indicated Summerhour with a wave of his hand.

Leahy didn't acknowledge the remark. He stood quiescent as they
approached, his gaze fixed on Summerhour.

The NSA agent looked embarrassed as he stuck out his hand. “I wouldn't
blame you if you slapped it away, but I hope you can see why I had to lie to
you back in Atlanta."

Leahy hesitated for a couple of seconds before taking Summerhour's hand. "No
problem," he said softly, but his face belied the response. "I
wouldn't have believed the truth anyway." He returned the firm handshake
with equal pressure.

Durant eased himself into a chair and pulled out the inevitable pipe. His
manner, and the grimace on his face, indicated he was still suffering
physically from the events of the previous hours. "I wanted the two of you
to meet before now," he said, "but Mike's been occupied on another
project. Dr. Kasdan will be joining us shortly." He glanced at the
computer screen behind Leahy. "Were the reports helpful?"

"I found them interesting, but they weren't really any help. It was
just something I thought we should eliminate as a possibility." He sat
down and assumed a relaxed posture.

"Too bad," the physicist said. "We'd already gone over
them pretty much in detail, but I was hoping you might see something we
overlooked."

"There's just that." He pointed to the computer screen with the
window demanding a password.

Durant walked to the computer and studied the screen. He tried several
unsuccessful password combinations then said, "I don't understand this. The
attachment must be something Edward added to the file, but why encrypt
it?"

"Obviously he didn't want anyone else to read it," Summerhour
put in. "Maybe we could get our computer experts to see if they can bypass
it."

"Let's wait a while," Leahy said. He punched the escape key and
cleared the screen. "I'd like to try a few things before we do that."

"Dr. Durant told me about your encounter with the gunman in the
desert," Summerhour said, changing the subject. "You have any idea
who he was?" He dropped into a chair and crossed his legs.

"Not yet. The military is trying to trace his fingerprints, but I
doubt they’ll come up with anything."

"Too bad he couldn't have been taken alive," Summerhour mused. "We
might have gotten the answers to a lot of questions."

"He didn't leave us much choice," Leahy responded, his voice
testy. "We were lucky not to have been killed ourselves." He knew
Summerhour's remark was a natural observation, and under similar circumstances
he might have said the same thing, but he also knew the reason for his
irritation was because Summerhour had lied to him. It might have been
necessary, but as far as professional courtesy was concerned, it left something
to be desired. Anyone who lied would be a long time redeeming
themselves
with Matt Leahy.

"Of course," Summerhour responded quickly. He sensed the edge
in Leahy’s voice. "Captain Williams did exactly what he should have done. It's
just that we've come up with an absolute blank in trying to find out what we're
up against here. So far our only clue is a dead man." He glanced at Durant
then back to Leahy. "I can't help thinking of all the lives at
stake."

Leahy felt some of the tension leave him. "I understand," he
said. "But we still have a few things going for us. We're trying to trace
the rifle now." He did not mention his request to have the Apache Point
security chief's blood and urine analyzed.

"Through the FBI?" Summerhour asked.

"No. There's no time for that much red tape. A friend of mine is
having it processed."

That answer seemed to alarm Summerhour. He shifted to the edge of his
chair. "Matt, you know this is a top secret project," he warned.

Leahy held up his hand. "Don't worry. He doesn't know any more than
he has to. Besides, he's not connected with the government. Until we know who
the players are, I thought it best not to involve anyone else from Apache
Point."

"Tracing a rifle could take a long time," Summerhour said. He
noticed that Leahy intentionally failed to disclose who was doing the
processing.

"We still have a little time left. Let's hope it's enough."
Leahy responded.

Summerhour shook his head in disagreement. "Not enough. We have to
leave this afternoon."

Leahy looked at Durant, his puzzlement evident. “Based on what you told
me earlier, we still have more than twenty-four hours to go," he
complained. "Why are we leaving this afternoon?"

Durant looked surprised. "Because you have to be in position to
transfer by the deadline. It'll take at least eighteen hours just to get you
there." He glanced from Leahy to Summerhour, obviously confused by the
misunderstanding. "I thought you realized how it works. Is there a
problem?"

"Be in position where?" He was obviously missing something. "Aren't
we making the transfer from here?"

Durant stared at him for a few seconds, then relaxed and nodded to
himself
. "Of course," he said absently. "It's
my fault. How stupid of me. I failed to tell you how the Chronocom operates. You
must have thought all the time shifts take place here at Apache Point."

"They don't?" Leahy leaned forward, his expression
apprehensive.

"I'm sorry, Matt, but they don’t,” Durant answered. “If we
transported you from here you'd just wind up in prehistoric New Mexico. You see,
the Chronocom alters the time continuum at whatever
point
the energy is directed to. You remember when I told you about the
seawater?"

Leahy nodded.

"Well, that happened because there was once an ocean on this very
spot. We didn't know it at the time, but the stellarite was responding to being
activated in an uncontrolled direction. It simply reached back along the path
of least resistance and pulled the water forward. Since then we've learned how
to channel the energy along a narrow beam at different power levels. Each point
in time is directly related to a certain amount of power concentrated in that
beam. You probably noticed the big antenna on top of the research building. The
stellarite's energy is funneled through that antenna to one of three
satellites. The selected satellite retransmits the energy beam to a specific
target at ground level. When it strikes the target, the concentrated energy
flares out and disrupts the time continuum at that particular place. When the
energy dissipates, the transfer is complete. So you see, you have to be where
the window opens in order to go through. In this case, the target is in
Egypt." The physicist fell silent, waiting for him to respond.

Leahy sat there for an indeterminate time, his thoughts turned inward. He
was not prepared for this new revelation. He mentally kicked himself for
assuming the Chronocom probably acted
like
the
transporter on Star Trek. There, you just stepped in at one end and out at the
other. He should have known it could not be that simple.

There was no way Pierce could complete what he had asked of him by
afternoon, and by that time they would be en route to Egypt, leaving him
waiting for a call that would never come. Using a cellphone from the aircraft
would be out of the question for security reasons. It was uncertain that Pierce
would discover anything, but Leahy’s intuition told him the tests were of
paramount importance. Now, circumstances made it impossible to get the results.

"I understand," he finally said to Durant. "I should have
been more specific in my questions when you explained it to me. It’s just that
I was counting on a few more hours.” He drummed his fingers on the arms of the
chair for a few seconds then asked, “You’re certain there’s no way to transfer
from here?”

Durant shook his head. "There are cases where we have transferred
inanimate objects from one place to another, but we would never try that with
people. It's far too dangerous to risk it with human life. I wish it was
possible, Matt, but we're locked in. Your flight leaves Albuquerque at
three-thirty this afternoon. It would be even sooner if the Air Force could
have a plane ready before then."

Leahy waved both hands in exasperation. “It’s okay. We’ll make do.” He
looked at Summerhour and said, "I believe you said
we
would be leaving?"

"Yes," Durant answered for the other man. "That's why I
wanted you two to get together. Mike's one of our senior agents. He'll be the
fourth member of your team."

Before Leahy could form a response, Durant's secretary buzzed the
intercom to announce Taylor's arrival. A second later she walked into the room,
followed by Williams. She and Leahy looked at each other for a few seconds,
communicating without words.

"Am I late?" She directed the question to Leahy.

"Just by a few years," he responded with a knowing smile. Only
the two of them understood his cryptic response.

She walked over and stood close to him. "Morning, Dr. Durant,
Mike," she said to the other men. “Sorry we’re running late but Chuck
wasn’t cleared for the research building. We had to manually put a copy of his
fingerprints into the computer before he could get in. We didn’t plan on his
being here, you know.”

Williams and Summerhour had not met, so she introduced them.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you, Captain," Summerhour
said. He gave the Marine an appraising look and offered his hand. "Dr.
Durant told me about what happened last night. It's a miracle you're still
alive. How are you feeling?"