The Traveler (26 page)

“Well, maybe I can help with that part at least.”

Jack saw the technicians as they started unloading material and boxes from the inside. That was when he saw Sarah and Anya. His eyes went wider when he saw Alice Hamilton giving instructions to the more than seventy engineers. He looked questioningly at Compton, who smiled and shook his head. Jack knew Niles would be inundated with the requests of at least two people who wanted to be included on the field teams and he knew they had forwarded those requests through the office of one Alice Hamilton. Jack knew without being told that Niles had held his ground but caved in at least allowing the two women on site during the mission.

“I knew you were afraid of Alice. You traded her their mission status to be on the home team in Brooklyn, didn't you?” Jack said as Niles turned and started for the door.

“Yep.”

*   *   *

An old meeting room originally intended for naval engineers in the previous century had been cleaned and a dozen large monitors installed. Three of these monitors had a view of the PIT, which had been opened since the all-clear was given by the FDNY. The silent men and women sat around the elongated and very chipped-up Formica table and stared at the water-damaged devastation below their feet. Men and women technicians had pumped the remaining water from the PIT but most could see that the doorway would never function again in the shape it was in.

“First order of business,” Niles said as he rapped his knuckles on the table to get everyone's attention. “Securing this site, Jack?”

“I assigned Colonel Farbeaux to that task.” Jack looked across the table at the Frenchman, who had conveniently arranged his seating assignment to sit between Anya and Sarah. He smiled at Jack for only a brief moment. He pulled up his notes on the electronic pad. “Henri?” Collins looked questioningly at Sarah, who shrugged her shoulders and then winked at Jack, which got her a return frown.

“With the assistance of Dr. Morales, I have learned that we may have a break in who was responsible.” Henri tapped another button on his pad and a monitor came to life. “This is a Russian immigrant whose real name is a mystery, but the NYPD has dubbed him the ‘Bolshevik.' Goes by the name of Jones. Not very original, but most Russian mob types aren't known for their originality in any areas except murder. That is this man's specialty.”

The picture on the monitor was of a man with a black beard and one who seemed very jovial in the surveillance clip stolen by Europa from the NYPD.

“What led you to him?” Niles asked the Frenchman.

“Probability. Nothing happens in Brooklyn without this man knowing or being responsible for it. He is a former police captain with the Moscow Metropolitan Police. Very skilled. I once read a dossier on him back in the good old days when intelligence services could track him. As corrupt a lawman as there ever was. The man is a killer and is known to use nothing but military-grade weaponry and explosives.”

“But you're not a hundred percent sure that he's responsible?” Compton persisted.

“I know you people would like absolutes, but you'll have to trust my instinct on this. This was well planned and very nearly flawlessly executed. Yes, I'm sure he at least knows about it and who did it.”

“I concur with the colonel,” Jack said as he studied the face on the monitor.

“Why?” Virginia asked out of curiosity.

“Let's just say I believe he has insight to men like this, at least from Henri's unique perspective.”

Chuckles sounded from around the table.

“Okay, get our friend here a link with Europa and get this man found and out of our way. I don't give a damn about his reasoning for now. I just need this project secured. Needless to say the president was briefed this morning on what happened here last night and knows we are involved. He is still allowing us his new leeway time for oversight, so let's not waste it. The directors of the FBI and CIA will soon start adding the two plus two here and begin asking questions the president could never begin to answer.”

Henri nodded and then shut off the program from his electronic pad.

At that moment the door opened and a Marine allowed Moira Mendelsohn into the room. The motorized chair stopped just inside the door. Niles, with difficulty, limped over and stood in front of her and introduced himself. Jack and the others were clearly seeing the respect Niles had for the Traveler. When Niles moved back to allow the Traveler inside several others, including Anya, stood to greet the great mind in the room. Moira's inquisitive brown eyes went to Jason Ryan and she had to hang on to his hand a moment longer to examine his tattoo better. He half smiled and then pulled his hand away and sat next to Mendenhall, who held back a snicker at Jason's facial design.

“What do you have, Virginia?” Niles asked as he watched Moira move in next to Jack and Charlie Ellenshaw.

“Professor Mendelsohn inspected what's left and even with Europa's help, as it was explained by our host, it would take at least seven months for her to reprogram the system and repair the water damage.”

“Not knowing just what this Europa is and its limitations, I would have to stick to my estimate,” Moira said as she took in the people around the table.

Virginia lowered her head and Jenks patted her leg, which elicited a kind look. The room was silent. Jenks slid his estimate for the loss of power lines and other damage to the local grid supplying power to the building as also a cause for concern, but now it seemed a moot point so he remained silent.

“Even if the doorway were operational and the power supply problem sorted out, we have no connecting doorway for our signal to lock on to,” Virginia said with a nod toward the Traveler.

“If I may ask a question that I am sure is readily known by most in this room,” Moira said as she faced the Group, “but if you had a repaired doorway, or maybe even a duplicate, second doorway, how far back, dimensionally speaking, are we talking about?”

Looks were exchanged and the room became just as silent as before. Niles cleared his throat and then nodded for Virginia to answer the question.

“Approximately two hundred and sixty-five thousand years. Exact location, unknown, the location we have—Antarctica.”

Moira was silent as the outrageous answer stunned her. She did notice the young dark-haired woman lower her head and then the smaller woman saying something to her softly, both expressing the bad news on their faces.

“Considerably further back than I have traveled, my dear. The astronomy calculations alone would take a supercomputer a full three years to even get a bearing on a location that far back.” She shook her head and then used her wheelchair's toggle to turn away from the group of curious eyes as she thought about the difficulties involved in a dimensional transfer that far back.

As for the group, none wanted to say they had the most powerful supercomputer ever devised at their disposal, but what would that serve? What the Traveler was trying to explain went over the heads of most everyone in the room. “I hope someday you will allow me to know how the subject of this far-flung dimensional jump managed to achieve this.”

“It happened during the recent war.”

She turned in her chair and looked at Compton with excitement on her face.

“The wormholes?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I knew that would be the only way they could get here from such a distance. They actually time-warped here?”

“Yes,” Niles said. “Is that helpful to you?”

They all saw the sadness in the Traveler's face. She shook her head. She looked at the fallen face of the woman with jet-black hair as she swallowed hard and then held the smaller woman's hand tighter. Moira wanted to reach out to the young woman but held back as she knew she had not delivered the news that was so badly needed to be heard.

“We did uncover something concerning our Traveler friend here,” Master Chief Jenks said, shrugging off the warning elbow poke he received from Virginia.

“What is that?” Niles asked, not wanting any more bad news at the moment.

Jenks tossed a small device onto the table with a clang. The wires leading from it looked like it was attached to a bomb, but then most saw the old clock face and digital readout were blank. Jenks quickly connected the wires to an adapter and then plugged the device in and the clock face flared to red and blue brightness. Moira was the only person in the room besides Jenks and Virginia to know what it was.

“The time stamp,” Moira said as she eased in closer to the table as Jenks picked up the small timepiece.

“Time stamp?” Niles asked.

“Yes,” answered the Traveler. “It records the date and time of the displacement jump.”

“Do you remember the very last date of your final dimensional shift?” Virginia asked, now curious to hear her explanation.

“Of course, September 25, 1973. The time should be frozen at zero three forty-five hundred hours and fifty-one seconds on that date.”

Jenks held the recorder up so all could see: 05/17/1987 0120 hours and 22 seconds.

All eyes went to the Traveler, who was in deep thought as she read and then reread the numerical display.

“That cannot be correct. Maybe the water damage?”

“It's a sealed unit, ma'am, you know that,” Jenks said as he sat back in his chair, not feeling too good about confronting the Traveler with a false statement on her last use of the Wellsian Doorway.

“I have no explanation for that.”

They could all see the consternation that Jenks and Virginia's revelation had caused the old woman. She lowered her head in thought.

Niles was about to speak when the main monitor that had been installed flared to life. On the screen was Xavier Morales as he sat in the clean room in Nevada.

“What have you got, Doctor?” Compton asked, knowing nothing could assuage the news they had already received.

“Europa may have something, a little out of the ordinary, but you may wish to investigate on your end.”

Moira looked up into the young face of the man she had met earlier.

“We were poring over the original blueprints for the Brooklyn Navy Yard buildings. It took Europa to uncover the original specs for the renovations made during the sixties and seventies. It seems in late 1985 building number one-fourteen was purchased. No design specs were ever turned in by the contractor other than a sprucing up of the building. Janitorial reports mostly and some asbestos removal, nothing major.”

“What has that to do with this building?” Jack asked.

Xavier looked sad for a moment as he looked at the people gathered in Brooklyn. “It seems the building was purchased by Grenada Holdings.”

Everyone looked over at a stunned Moira Mendelsohn.

“Ms. Mendelsohn's own corporation,” Morales finished.

“I don't have a second property here,” she said in her defense.

“Signed by your corporate board, a Mr. Joaquim Wachowski. Europa says he is a former associate of yours, ma'am,” Xavier added, still not feeling good about placing the old woman in a corner.

Moira Mendelsohn felt physically ill.

“My God, they constructed a second doorway.”

“Who?” Niles asked as he was sorely tempted to stand and shout the question.

“Some very unscrupulous men with whom I once trusted with far too many secrets”—she looked away—“and lives.”

Questions stirred and hopes were raised, for how long this saving grace would exist, none of the Event Group knew.

“May I suggest you get someone over to building one-fourteen?” Morales said as he watched the stunned inactivity on his own monitor from Nellis.

Before anyone could issue orders, Jack had assisted Henri from his chair and along with Will and Jason, hurriedly left the room.

“Now, perhaps we better go into a little more depth on your past financial partners.” Niles was watching her as Jack and his men exited the makeshift conference room.

An angry look crossed the Traveler's countenance. “Yes, let's do that.”

 

10

Collins checked with his outside security and found that the last team of news vans and reporters had left the navy yard twenty minutes before. Jack, Will, Jason, and Henri all stood underneath the pewter skies as they examined building 114 from a distance. The 150-year-old redbrick building had its facade renovated in the eighties to make it aesthetically in line with its occupied neighbors. The owners of the property spent money on the outside to keep the navy yard development people in check, but according to Europa and Morales, refused to refurbish the inside. Europa unscrupulously uncovered the plans from the city building inspector and saw that no refurbishment of the interior was ever ordered, or at least reported. It was purely a real estate investment for the Grenada Holding Corporation and their extensive real estate portfolio.

“You say the last reporters left some time ago?” Jack asked as he took a step toward building 114 situated across from the newly flooded dry dock that separated building 114 from its sister, 117.

“According to Lance Corporal Ramirez, yes, sir,” Will answered.

Collins glanced at the rain clouds above them and acted as casual as he could.

“Well, someone with a camera seems to be lost,” he said as he walked toward the building and then stopped. The others stopped with him. Only Henri knew why. “Mr. Ryan, eleven o'clock, building one-eleven, rooftop, two men, one with a camera and one observing,” he said without turning to look at the abandoned ghost of building 111.

“Correction, three men total, two of them are armed with more than a camera,” Henri said as he reached down and acted as though he was looking at something.

“Jesus, how in the hell can you two see that far?” Will asked as he was always amazed at Jack's prowess in spotting danger. Needless to say Henri's ability came as no surprise at all.