The Temporal (22 page)

McGregor was in the lobby
mere minutes after receiving the clandestine note. He was pretending to read a newspaper. Propped up inside the newspaper was the piece of paper with the girls’ names written on it. Reading and rereading the blackmailer’s note helped calm his nerves. He remembered their beautiful angelic bodies that he had helped create. After taking care of this current threat, he would demand Kaileen show him her eyes as a reward—he would demand to see the stars and the girls, his creations.

Even
close to midnight, the lobby was well-lit and soft piano music trickled from a host of unseen speakers all around. The environment calmed the killer’s nerves and prepared him spiritually for meeting his Temporal foes.

Out of sight of the lobby, Sam and Suteko were in a hallway listening to the echoes. They were most interested in any sign that McGregor wasn’t alone. Sam didn’t sense any of the Nephloc in the vicinity, but McGregor also had the Secret Service protecting him. The murderer was, after all, a high-risk presidential candidate. A bullet from a gun held by a human would be just as deadly as a Nephloc.

With a nod from Suteko, Sam left the hallway. Before he realized it, he was sitting across from McGregor whose eyes had strayed from his newspaper
to meet his coming blackmailer.

Upon seeing Sam
, McGregor stuffed the piece of paper into his pocket and set his folded newspaper on a coffee table next to his seat. No one else was nearby as their eyes locked.

Sam was wearing a fake moustache, a hat, and darkened glasses. The moustache looked surprisingly real—
but he wasn’t sure he even needed the disguise. Since their first meeting in New Orleans, both men had undergone significant changes. McGregor had been nothing more than a nervous little mouse of a man, barely conscious of his surroundings. McGregor’s now confident eyes betrayed no sense of recognition, but it was certainly possible he had learned to hide his feelings well.

“
Mr. Vice President, one million dollars.” Sam kept his voice low and his words to the point. He wanted McGregor to see this as nothing more than simple blackmail.

“
What? I’ve done nothing wrong. You have the wrong guy.”

Sam tossed a
manila envelope with a piece of tape over the flattened clasp. It landed in McGregor’s lap.

“
What’s this?”

“
Evidence. One million dollars and the two copies of the recording will disappear.”

“
Who are you?”

“
A concerned citizen,” Sam said imagining himself as Harry Callahan only without the comfort of his Smith & Wesson.

McGregor ripped open the top of the
manila envelope and dumped its contents into his lap. A lone USB thumb drive fell out. McGregor looked up at Sam. “Shall we go to my room? I have a computer there to view the files.”

Sam nodded and stood, following McGregor to the nearest bank of elevators.

Sam continued to listen. He was now extremely familiar with McGregor’s pattern. He couldn’t read McGregor’s thoughts in real-time, but he could feel his intentions. He heard new echoes that suggested McGregor knew—or at least suspected—who Sam was, but it wasn’t because McGregor remembered his face from New Orleans or Los Angeles; McGregor had been forewarned to expect them... by Kaileen.

A woman in her fifties joined them inside the elevator. She stood next to the panel and smiled.
“Which floor, gentlemen?”

Sam let McGregor answer
even though he knew McGregor’s room number, “Eleven, please.”

The woman pressed
the eleven button and quickly returned her gaze to McGregor.

“
I know... Mr. McGregor? It’s you, isn’t it?” The woman became uncontrollably excited. “I can’t tell you what an honor it is to meet you! My parents are huge fans. They won’t believe—you must give me your autograph—please!” Her eyes were wide with excitement.

He nodded as she fished a pen from her purse. Handing him the back of a
stray receipt and the pen, McGregor signed his name and gave it back to the woman with a wordless smile.

The elevator stopped on the sixth floor and beeped. As the doors opened, the woman backed out continuing to sing his praises. McGregor maintained his smile until the door closed.

“We wouldn’t want to disappoint your fans, now would we?” said Sam, pointing to the thumb drive that McGregor was still fingering.

“
You are unarmed, of course?”

“
Of course.” Sam lifted his hands, inviting a pat-down. McGregor ran his hands up and down Sam’s sides and over his pockets until he was satisfied.

He then removed a small device and began moving it up and down Sam
’s body.

“
What’s that?”

“
Just want to make sure pest control doesn’t need to be called.”

Sam smiled. He had turned down an earplug and mic
rophone to communicate with Suteko, preferring instead to listen to the echoes. The old man’s influence had saved him from being discovered.

The elevator stopped and beeped again, this time on the eleventh floor.

“Follow me,” said McGregor as he slipped the device and thumb drive into his pocket. They entered the hallway and turned a corner that led to his room.

Sam slowed his mind and tried to listen to the echoes. He heard Suteko
and her thoughts were soothing.

The Echoes o
f Eternity encouraged him with every step.

Sam had come a long way since arriving in Tokyo just a few months before. But despite his growth, he felt the pressure; if he failed now, a terrorist may very well become the next President of the United States. Sam refocused on the echoes and Suteko
’s thoughts; he was here to blackmail and stop a murderer.

McGregor swiped his hotel key card and, holding the door open, ushered Sam in.

“Would you care for some Scotch? A beer perhaps?” After allowing Sam a few seconds to answer, he added, “No? Well, the laptop is just over here.”

There were two queen beds in the room. The laptop was on a nightstand between them. McGregor invited the blackmailer to sit on the opposite bed.

The computer had been in sleep mode, and the two men each breathed heavy but wordless breaths while it revived. The thumb drive held a single audio file. McGregor double clicked the file and a media player loaded. He kept a cursor over the volume bar to make sure it was loud enough to be heard a foot away, but not farther.

The audio began with footsteps but no talking. There was a light breeze blowing into the mic. McGregor
’s face remained proud and unfazed.

Then he heard it. McGregor instantly knew what the recording was.

“Michelle—wait up. I didn’t mean it...”

It was a male voice
—Michelle’s beau, the obstacle McGregor had to remove to get Michelle to love him. For a moment, McGregor’s face betrayed him—the face of a hurt little boy. He quickly turned away from the blackmailer and inwardly seethed.

“
I told you I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

But hearing her voice
—alive!—was exhilarating. He had seen Michelle several times since that night—in Kaileen’s eyes—but this was her voice while she was still alive.
Who recorded this?

“
Look, I know I was a jerk, but I was just playing. Give me another chance. I...”

“
I can’t deal with this now. I need to think, clear my head.”

“
Promise me you’ll call me.”

At this point, McGregor
’s memories of the event took over. He saw half of her face so clearly. He had to stifle the urge to reach out to touch her. Golden puffs of hair were tucked behind her ear. It had been a gloriously sad face.

“
If you leave now, I’ll consider it.”

“
I’m leaving—just... call me, okay?”

She had stood there so still until the jerk left out of sight. She then squatted to the ground, sobbing like a little girl who lost her favorite doll.

McGregor’s hand reached out unconsciously. His present will was no longer strong enough to pull it back. That weakened will, however, was screaming for him to wake and deal with the blackmailer. The woman—Kaileen—would be most displeased. But he couldn’t resist listening. He was once again with Michelle. He knew what came next and smiled in anticipation.

Violent s
ounds of rustling leaves and branches slapping his arms and face reverberated through the laptop speakers and in his memories.

He had invited her into his fortress, but she was struggling as if she didn
’t want to be there—as if he were a monster—as if he wasn’t her savior from that jerk or from a cold, unfeeling world. McGregor heard his own voice shushing her, trying to calm her and show her his love. He was the hero she needed. All the rest of the world saw that—why couldn’t she? No one else but he could provide that kind of total love.

McGregor heard a click, but its meaning didn
’t register. He was still there in that moment with Michelle. She was so silent, so beautiful. He no longer heard the sound of the breeze or the staccato song of a mockingbird.

The present McGregor could hold it back no more.
“Shut up! Don’t you see that I love you?”

Then there was silence for what seemed like days before the blackmailer spoke.

“That is exactly what you said the night you took the life of Michelle McIntyre.”

“
Shut up!” McGregor’s words sounded weak even though he was shouting.

“
Had I continued the recording, we would have heard your voice saying those same words, isn’t that correct?”

McGregor just buried his face in his hands.

“You also killed Becky Sanders, a young girl just starting out in life. You took the life of two innocent girls and now you pretend to be some hero. You are, in fact, more responsible for what happened in New Orleans than anyone else, isn’t that right? You were there. You set up the bomb.”

“
Shut up.” His voice was not loud, but its strength had returned.

“
The money, Mr. McGregor.”

The bed groaned as
McGregor’s weight left off the springs. He walked with confidence toward the bathroom.

“
I’ll wash my face and then we will transfer the money online. You will destroy that?” he said, pointing to the computer. “How do I know you won’t come back asking for more?”

“
You don’t. I can only give you my word,” Sam said, remembering a line from some forgettable late night movie.

Sam watched as McGregor walked to the sink, cupped his hands, and splashed his face multiple times. He shook his hands
free of any remaining water and wedged his face into a towel, patting it dry.

“
You win. I will just need to get my password from my briefcase under the bed.”

Sam hoped Suteko had been right... He still couldn
’t read McGregor’s thoughts in real-time, but the hatred lacing McGregor’s voice was impossible to miss.

A moment after disappearing over the side of the bed, McGregor reappeared with a Glock and a sneer.

“You really thought you could trick me? Huh? Samuel Williams?” McGregor quickly closed the distance. He was now holding the gun inches from Sam’s head. The gun shook, but Sam sat still and said nothing. “I’ll tell the Secret Service some damn Arab group tried to set me up. I’ll give them that recording and tell the world I was blackmailed because I saved the world.” His hands shook more. “
I
saved the world! I did! Who would they believe? Huh? Me, their savior, or you—a confirmed terrorist!”

“
A savior? You didn’t save Michelle—or Becky.”

“
Shut up!”

“
You were not
their
savior.” Sam stood firm. The quivering gun was now pointing at Sam’s heart.

“
I,” McGregor said, half-choking on a draw of breath, “I
loved
Michelle.” He nodded his head multiple times to confirm his words. “I’ve seen her. I’ve seen her several times since then. She is more beautiful now. I helped create that new beauty. I can see her again and again. I just...”

McGregor was terrified of the angels, but they were beautiful
—more beautiful than anything he had seen on earth.

A lone tear began to bubble from one of McGregor
’s eyes.

“
I’m sorry...” McGregor said as he stood back a foot and raised the gun to Sam’s head. He had regained his composure and even some of his strength. “I’m sorry, but I also cannot be your savior.”

McGregor closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

A hotel clerk behind the desk had been quietly watching the Asian woman sleep in a lobby recliner. He had an hour to go before he could clock out and looking at a pretty face helped the time go by.

He wondered how old she was. She was young but seemed to have an ageless dignity even as she slept in that comfortable chair. He was both envious of the sleep she was getting and of the man whom she was undoubtedly waiting for.

He sighed and turned to the paperwork in front of him. He tried doing actual work as often as his eyes would allow—just in case his manager was watching—but his gaze kept returning to the woman.

She now wore a large smile that startled him. Her eyes were still shut and her position in the chair had not changed. But she wore that gigantic smile...

★

Suteko
’s smile had not broken her concentration. But by listening to the echoes, she was sure that the old man was all right. She heard his voice. She heard Sam’s voice echoing too. She was sure both of the voices were from the future. The plan seemed to be working.

★

The clerk continued to watch, intrigued by this mysterious woman and her sudden smile. But just as suddenly, the woman’s face fell dark. Seeing the change, the clerk almost rushed to her aid. Not only were her eyes now wide open, but that amazing smile had turned to a stern, pained expression. She stood up quicker than he could imagine was possible. The woman was fully awake and looked around, panicking. Then… she simply disappeared.

★

Suteko had the sudden realization that something had not gone according to plan. Something awful had just happened. Something was terribly wrong.
Sam, don’t do it...

Click.

Sam smiled. Even if he hadn’t heard the echoes, he would have trusted Suteko with his life.

She had entered McGregor
’s room while they were in the lobby. There, she both unloaded the gun and set up surveillance cameras at various points in the room. The entire scene had been recorded and streamed live to Agent Simmons at the Federal Bureau of Investigations.

Cobbs had mentioned Paul Simmons as someone he trusted enough to contact. Cobbs had been killed before he could give them a phone number or address, but information gleaned from Cobbs
’ cell phone enabled them to contact Simmons. He had been the last call Cobbs had made and the only name the agent had mentioned.

★

Simmons had not been told who the callers were or even what the situation was about specifically, but out of respect for his fallen friend, Simmons sat in front of a computer connected to a video stream and waited. For what seemed to be hours, all he saw was a series of still images of a darkened room.

Then, the lights came on and Simmons realized he was viewing
various angles of some unknown hotel room.

Voices. Before he saw the face, Simmons recognized the first voice: Todd McGregor, the one man more than any other whose face and voice
were in the news constantly.

Simmons had been watching alone in his office, but as soon as McGregor appeared, he was on the phone and sharing his screen with several intelligence and security people.

Click.

“Did you really think we would let you have a loaded gun?”

“
Y... you,” stammered McGregor. “Curse you—Samuel!”

“
I prefer Sam.”

Sam closed the distance to his enemy in less than a second. He knocked the gun from a shaking hand and had his own hand around McGregor
’s throat. In a flash, the killer’s body was against a wall—a wall that had been ten feet behind him.

“
You killed innocent girls. You are responsible for two more deaths in New Orleans. You are in league with the demon who murdered a friend of mine. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now?”

McGregor was barely conscious. He was unable to speak or even comprehend the question.
His feet dangled, desperately seeking solid ground.

A streak of rainbow color saturated the room and manifested itself between Sam and McGregor.

“Don’t do this, Sam.”

Suteko had one hand on Sam
’s cheek and the other on his arm, the arm connected to McGregor’s throat.

“
Sam, look at me. Let the authorities handle this. Let’s clear your name.”

Sam turned to her and then, after a moment of hesitation, back to McGregor with renewed rage.

“Sam, clear
my
name.”

Her words hit Sam hard. He loosened his grip and let McGregor drop. The killer rolled away, wheezing on the lightly carpeted floor.

“It’s over, Sam.” Suteko allowed herself a half-hearted smile.

Sam spent a few seconds catching his breath before his face turned dark.

“No.” He rushed to the door. “No, it is not over. She’s coming,” Sam said, turning to face Suteko. “Kaileen will be here soon.”

Suteko
’s face paled. “Marcus,” she said, shaking slightly. “Did… Is Marcus all right.”

Sam took her hands and squeezed.
“Yes. I can hear him. He is warning us—loudly. We must get McGregor out of here.”

Suteko turned toward McGregor who was cowering in a corner. With a sweep of her hands, she scooped the killer into her arms and flew out the door. Sam followed close behind.

They were in the hall when the red-headed woman stepped out of the elevator. Her motion was so fast, that it was as if she had exited the elevator already running at full speed. She dropped and rolled into their view. As she righted herself, she flicked her wrists outward. Sharp metallic projectiles launched from both opened palms. She swiftly followed behind.

Sam pushed Suteko and McGregor into a door to their left. The impact bent the metal frame enough for Suteko and McGregor to fall within and away from the incoming projectiles.

Leaning to his right, Sam was easily able to dodge one of the blades. Another ripped his upper left shoulder, sending blood and cloth into the air.

Before he could think about the pain, however, the woman was on him, hitting him with the brunt of her hunched-over shoulder. The collision sent Sam flying twenty feet
behind and into the outer wall, his legs and feet all the while ripping carpet and flooring. During the flight, his fingers scrambled and reached in vain for any hold, any way to slow his backward motion.

His back hit the wall, knocking the air out of his lungs. His ears heard a series of loud creaking and cracking noises that seemed to come from all around him. He realized it was the sound of his flesh and bone hitting sheetrock, wood, and then brick, slowing his movement but not stopping it entirely.

His fingers finally caught hold of something, halting his motion. One hand held a wooden stud braced by the outer brickwork. His other hand had several fingers deep into wallpaper and drywall.

He felt the cool outside air against his back; it was soothing to his open wounds but horrifying when he realized
the cool air meant he was hanging halfway outside a tall building. He only had a moment to assess his situation—through blurred and dusty eyes, he saw the bloodied arms, hands, and fingers that kept him from falling eleven floors.

“
Oh, Samuel. What I would have given you!”

As Sam opened his eyes from a blink, he caught sight of Kaileen
’s elbow growing large until it slammed into the side of his face.

“
And yet, you spat on me.”

The pain was becoming unbearable and
Sam’s left hand lost its grip. His back felt broken and his legs felt trod over by a Mack truck, but he was still holding on with his right hand. He couldn’t tell if his legs were inside, outside, or buried under the flooring.

“
Your secrets will be mine, and then you will die.”

He tried to open his already swollen eyes again but couldn
’t. He felt another blow send his head back into something hard. He could only imagine that his head had hit the outside of the building as he was falling the eleven floors to his death. Through closed eyes, he saw sparkling stars but little else.

Her fists planted themselves on either of Sam
’s ears. Although painful, it told Sam he had not fallen outside the hotel—not yet. When she squeezed, high-pitched ringing joined the sparkles. Blind and deaf, his only good sense—touch—simply reported intense pain. Then he could feel the woman’s cold hands convene around his throat. It was comforting to his burning throat—a little like the cool balm on a wound or the outside air he could still feel on his exposed back.

But then she began to squeeze.

Even the one sense still operative suddenly ceased to function. Sam felt no pain; he felt no burning or coolness. Even the intense ringing faded into silence. The sparkles also were leaving him. Soon, there was nothing, nothing but black.

“
Sam. Sam, can you hear me?”

It was an echo and as faint as a muffled radio seeping in through a room beyond a wall.

Opening his eyes, he was surprised to be able to see at all, let alone see the face of the old man looking down at him.

“
Sam, we must go. Can you move?”

“
Move? I’m alive?”

“
Yes, Sam, you are alive. I came in time, but Kaileen escaped.”

Sam realized it was Marcus speaking.

“Marcus—I think I can move.”

“
All right. I will carefully lift you. Let me know if there is any pain.”

Sam grimaced as he felt Marcus feeding his hands and arms under his body. There was pain
—much pain, but he knew it could have been a lot worse. He was grateful for the pain. It was a blessing to be able to feel at all.

“
It’s fine,” Sam said. “I can take it.”

“
Good because security will be here soon and I really don’t want to have to explain all this.”

And then Sam suddenly remembered the woman of his dreams.
“Suteko? Suteko! Where...”

“
I’m here Sam. Don’t worry. I’m afraid Kaileen took McGregor, however.” Marcus headed toward the stairs with Sam in his arms. From the corner of his eye, he could see Suteko smile, however faintly. She had a cut below her right eye and she held her left arm as if it was injured.

Sam closed his eyes and let his mind drift. He barely noticed as Marcus carried him down eleven floors of steps in less than a minute.