36: A Novel (44 page)

“He’s a very deadly man.  Don’t give him an opportunity.  You have to take him out the instant he walks through the door or your chances go way down.  If he gets his hands on you, or reaches a weapon, you are dead.  And that means the director will die as well as the woman in DC.”

He had reiterated the point as if I wasn’t smart enough to understand it the first time.  Part of me, the ego I’d developed as my training progressed, wanted to dismiss his concerns.  I’d trained for this.  I could take him.

Then I reminded myself that I’d only been doing this for six months, whereas Johnson had years of experience under his belt.  Sure, I’d been in the Army.  But I’d been an infantry soldier.  Walk long distances and know how to shoot a rifle.  That was pretty much the extent of the training invested in a run of the mill foot soldier. 

I’d learned a lot since arriving at the project facility, but when I thought about things honestly, Carpenter was right.  I didn’t stand a chance against a seasoned warrior.  I’d been reminded of that most recently on the sidewalk in DC when Ray had disabled me with only his thumb.  If he could do that with a single finger, what could he, or Johnson, do if they really wanted to inflict damage?

The door to Patterson’s quarters was ajar and I pushed it open, stepping through.  He was seated on a leather sofa, a cup of coffee on a table at his side, speaking on a phone.  When he saw me, his eyebrows went up for just an instant.

“I need to call you back,” he said into the phone and disconnected the call.

“Mr. Whitman.  What has happened?”

“Sir?” 

I had expected to be met with anger or indignation that I had entered his private space, uninvited.  Instead, he was behaving as if this were a normal occurrence.

“Here you are, standing in my private quarters, dressed in an FBI jacket with a weapon in your waistband.  Not a difficult deduction on my part to surmise you have been sent back for some reason.”

He picked up his coffee and took a small sip, watching me over the rim of the cup.  I almost blushed under his scrutiny.  The man was sharp as a tack.  He’d taken one look at me, and despite the surprise of my unannounced entry, had the fortitude to analyze the situation.  And arrive at an accurate assessment.

“Your guess is right.  I’ve been sent back.  You will be murdered in,” I checked my watch.  “Two minutes and forty-three seconds.”

“And will you be the one pulling the trigger, Mr. Whitman?”

“No, sir.  Agent Johnson.  There is a conspiracy involving him to assassinate the President.  He’s already ordered my death, and killed the woman who helped me in California.”

“Ms. Broussard?”  He asked, eyebrows arching in surprise.

“Yes, sir,” I nodded.  “In a couple of minutes, he’s going to walk in here and shoot you in the back of the head.  Then he boards a helicopter and flies to DC where he kills Julie.  I’m here to stop him.”

“I see,” he said, taking another sip of coffee.  “And I suppose you’ve seen evidence to prove Agent Johnson’s guilt?”

“Yes, sir.  I have a flash drive, the one you gave me to take back to Agent Kirkpatrick.  There’s a video on it of Agent Johnson ordering him to terminate me.  There’s also the facility’s security footage of him walking in here, then leaving a couple of minutes later.  No one else enters or leaves until your assistant finds your body eleven minutes later.  Pretty damning evidence.”

“I would agree,” he said, taking another sip of coffee.

Why was he so fucking relaxed?  Didn’t he understand what I was telling him?  That someone was about to walk through his door and try to kill him.  I checked my watch again.  Fifty-three seconds until Johnson arrived.

“Mr. Whitman, I believe you are sincere, and have seen compelling evidence of Agent Johnson’s guilt.  However, I’m going to ask that you trust me.  Here’s what I’d like you to do.  Step into the bathroom, out of sight.  Have your weapon ready.  When he comes in, I trust that you will shoot him if he attempts to harm me in any way.  If he does not attack me, please restrain yourself and do nothing.”

I stood there looking at him for a long pause.  Wondering if he knew more than he was letting on.  He had to realize he was playing games with his life.

Checking my watch again, I looked back up and met Patterson’s unwavering stare.  Thirty seconds.  Deciding to trust him, I moved quickly across the room and into a spacious bath.  The light was off and I moved the door until it was half closed. 

I was completely concealed in the darkness, the pistol in my right hand.  Raising it, I aimed at the door from the office into the quarters.  The farthest point away from where I stood was no more than twenty feet.  I was confident I could drill a round into Johnson’s head the instant he started to draw a weapon.

Right on time there was a muted knock from the direction of the office.  Patterson shouted permission to enter and I heard the clank of the steel door open, a moment later a thud as it was closed.

“In here,” Patterson called.

A moment later, Agent Johnson appeared and stepped into the living area.  It took every ounce of restraint I possessed to not shoot him the instant my sights lined up on his head.

“What can I do for you, Agent Johnson,” Patterson asked, still sipping the damn coffee.

“Just checking in before I leave for Washington,” he said.  “Any last minute instructions?”

“No, I think we’ve covered everything quite well.  Our Department Of Justice liaison will meet you when you arrive and provide some more insight on the meeting.”

“Good.  I’m looking forward to it.  Well, I should be off.  The helo is waiting.”

Johnson turned and headed for the door.  I didn’t understand what was going on.  Why hadn’t he tried to shoot the director?

“Oh, one more thing,” Patterson said as Johnson was passing through the door on his way out.

“Sir?”  He asked, turning.

“If you would be so kind, can you delay your flight for a few minutes?  I’d like you to go out to the helicopter and tell the pilot to stand by, then come back.  Take your time doing it.”

“What’s going on, Ian?”  Johnson asked, eyes darting around the space.

“I need you to trust me,” Patterson said.  “Now, please go speak with the pilot.  Come back in, shall we say, fifteen minutes?”

Johnson squinted his eyes, staring hard at Patterson.  After a few seconds he nodded his head, looked around the room again and left.  When the outer door clanged shut behind him, I lowered my pistol and stepped out of the bathroom.

“How did you know?”  I asked.

“I’ve known Agent Johnson for almost twenty-five years,” Patterson said.  “I was his battalion commander in the Marines.  As far as I’m concerned, there was never a question.”

“Then who killed you?”  I asked.

“I suspect we’ll find out shortly,” he said calmly.  “Now, if you’ll return to the bathroom and exhibit some patience, I’m sure the guilty party will be along shortly.”

I nodded, despair setting in.  It wasn’t Johnson.  That meant I’d failed to save Julie.  She was going to die because Dr. Anholts and Carpenter had lied to me and sent me to the wrong point in time!  Anger surged and I thought about what I was going to do to them for their betrayal.

First, I needed to put a stop to this.  Maybe, when the murderer revealed himself, I could get enough information to send a warning to Julie.  There was still time for that.  Turning, I resumed my post behind the bathroom door.  And waited.  Checking my watch, I saw that the time for the assistant to walk in was almost there. 

It wasn’t long before there was a clang as the office door from the corridor opened again.  There was a thud as the outer door closed, then a shadow passed across the opening from the quarters into the office.  I was surprised when the director’s assistant walked in with a suppressed pistol in her hand.

“You fucking bitch,” I said, stepping into the room.

The pistol was gripped in both my hands, sights steady on her.  She had frozen, looking up in surprise when I came into view.  The pistol in her right hand was still pointed at the floor.  If it so much as twitched, I was going to blow her fucking head off.

My finger began to tighten on the trigger as I tried to decide if there was any reason not to put her down like a rabid dog.

“I see your surprise,” Patterson interjected, looking at her from where he sat on the sofa.  “That’s the problem with playing with time.  You think this is the first time you’ve done this.  Sneaking in here to kill me and set up Agent Johnson.  But, it’s not.  It might be the second.  Or possibly the twentieth.  You see, the more we’re learning about how time actually works, the more possibilities we’re discovering.”

“Why did you kill her?”  I shouted, ignoring Patterson’s babbling.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.  “I was on my way back from the range and remembered I needed to discuss something with the director.”

“With a suppressed pistol in your hand?”  I scoffed.  “Give me a break.  You know who killed her.  Or will kill her.  Beat her first, then put a bullet in her head and leave her for me to find in that hotel room.  Why?  Trying to make her tell where I was?”

“She can’t answer that question, Mr. Whitman.  For her, it hasn’t happened yet.  But she can tell us what her orders are and who’s giving them.”

Patterson stood, careful to stay well clear of my line of fire.  He came to stand near me, a large pistol held loosely in his hand.  Where the hell had he been hiding that?

“I know who’s giving the orders,” I said.  “It’s Carpenter.”

The assistant’s eyes widened slightly, for just an instant, confirming I was correct.

“I’m well aware of Mr. Carpenter’s betrayal,” Patterson said.  “I’ve left him alone, hoping to use him to lead me to the real architects of the conspiracy.  Unfortunately, it seems as if I’ve underestimated them and they decided I was an impediment to their plans.”

“What about Johnson?”  I asked.  “Why do they want me to kill him?”

There was a clang as the outer door opened and closed.  A moment later, Agent Johnson appeared in the entrance to the director’s quarters, immediately drawing his weapon when he saw our little tableau.

“Please take Ms. Silas into custody,” Patterson said.  “And when she is properly secured, detain Mr. Carpenter.”

Johnson gave me an odd look before stepping forward and removing the pistol from the assistant’s hand.  He slipped it into a suit coat pocket and produced a pair of handcuffs, slapping them onto her wrists after pulling her arms behind her back.

“Everything else OK here?”  He asked Patterson, but kept his eyes on me.

“Quite,” the director smiled.  “I’m explaining some things to Mr. Whitman.”

I lowered my weapon as Johnson led the assistant away.  Patterson turned back to me and continued where he’d left off.

“They knew that once I was killed, Johnson wouldn’t rest until he’d found the truth.  And he can be a formidable enemy.  One they wouldn’t want on their trail.  So they decided to remove both of us from the board.  Kill me and pin it on Johnson.  And it worked.  At least in one iteration of the timeline. 

“Apparently the people involved underestimated the import of trying to use time.  They got too clever for their own good.  Carpenter is too well versed to fall into the trap of thinking he could control events.  I imagine he was given orders without any latitude, and has attempted to carry them out.”

“He’s the one that kept telling me to shoot Agent Johnson the instant I saw him,” I said.  “He was insistent on it.  I thought he was just trying to help me.”

“Hardly,” Patterson snorted.  “He was trying to salvage the plan before it completely unraveled.  If you had listened and done as he said, which you nearly did, Agent Johnson would be dead.  And so would you.  There would be no one to save the President.”

“But why?”  I asked, not understanding.  “I’ve already stopped the assassination.”

“No,” Patterson said.  “You
will
stop the assassination.  If that had already happened, I wouldn’t be aware of it.  And I’ll take you at your word that you were, or will be, successful.  But coming back here in an attempt to kill Johnson?  That would prevent actions you are yet to take.  At least in this timeline.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.  “I did stop the assassination.  I remember doing it!”

“There’s an area of theoretical physics that explains this.  Dr. Anholts and I have had many late night discussions on the topic and I must confess they were quite stimulating.  Intellectually, that is.  To explain, time is multi-dimensional.  Sometimes.  At any given point, we each have to make decisions that will affect our path forward. 

“When a point that is significant to an individual’s timeline is reached, multiple branches of time are created.  Like a tree.  No one can explain why or how it is triggered, but we’ve been able to prove it and start studying the phenomenon.  When this happens, it creates an instability in time.  This, in effect, is lateral time.  Multiple scenarios occurring in tandem, with only one of them eventually winning out.”

“This is really beyond me.”

I was struggling to remain patient.  Patterson recognized this and gave me a small smile.

“I’ll try to simplify.  While you are standing here, there is another timeline unfolding in which you are endeavoring to stop the assassination.  Normally, you wouldn’t exist at the same time as past events.  But when you are sent back, a new, artificial timeline is created.  Now, spacetime is trying to resolve which branch of your time will become reality.

“Because you have not yet stopped the assassination in the parallel dimension, there is the possibility that what you do in this one will result in the other ceasing to exist, allowing the events to go unchanged.  You will be completely unaware of this.  At least consciously.  Unconsciously, there’s a part of your mind that we are yet to identify that is aware.  This is where the feeling of déjà vu comes from.  Or so we believe.”

My head was reeling.  Trying to follow what he was telling me was so far beyond my ability to comprehend that I was quickly growing frustrated.

“You’re telling me that what happens here can erase what I’ve already done?”