PENETRATE (The Portals of Time Book 1) (32 page)

Eric coasted them to an almost perfect landing. They taxied up to an enormous hangar. It had the Straithmore spiral logo on every side of the building. Including the front doors. It was painted in black. That was incorrect. His logo design was trade-marked. They’d used all kinds of colors. Red. Green. Blue. Yellow. Rainbow.

Never black.

Black was a reminder of the issues facing the planet – and the culprit behind it:  petroleum. Neal’s companies dealt in renewable energy resources. He sponsored technology to lessen, or even mitigate, carbon footprint problems. That was his trademark. Corporate mission. Political forum. He would never have a logo painted in black. Ever.

CHAPTER FORTY

The image across the hangar front separated as the doors opened. Eric taxied the plane inside. Parked it between a gargantuan 747, and a large-belly cargo plane. Both planes were fuel hogs and emblazoned across the sides with black Straithmore logos. Now that Neal looked at it closely, the end loop appeared to have a suspicious droplet hanging off one end.

It resembled a drop of crude oil.

Neal narrowed his eyes. Focused.

What the hell was going on?

He’d wanted financial dominance in the world, yes – but not at the expense of the planet. That had never been his agenda. Straithmore Enterprises was known as a sponsor of green incentives. Apparently, he’d been lax with his leadership. Somebody in his organization was sabotaging his efforts.

Neal wondered how far it went. How many members of his staff he’d have to fire. And then he wondered if he really cared enough to handle it.

Wait
.

What?

Had he really just thought that?

Neal stared at the cockpit but wasn’t seeing anything before him. He was stunned into immobility. Making money was
the
driving force in his life. It always had been. Saving the planet was part of that, but secondary. Nothing else had been of any consequence.

And – right now – none of that even mattered. Because, even if he’d dreamt it, loving Ainslee had been too real an emotion. Too all-encompassing. Too wondrous. There was no descriptor vast enough for what she meant to him. Neal had been wrong all these years. He’d been blinded by the materialistic. He hadn’t known.  

Love was the real force in the world.

It always had been.

Neal sucked in a breath as his heart pulsed painfully. As if he needed a reminder.

“We made it here on fumes, boss. Which is more weirdness. We had a full tank when we left Aruba.”

Neal grunted.

“I’ll go order a refill truck.”

The kid spoke from the cabin door. Neal waved a hand toward him, then he peeled off his headset. Held it for a moment while he took another pain-filled breath. He hadn’t unfastened his belts yet. He was moving on auto-pilot.

How could this emotion be linked to a fantasy? Had he really imagined being in the past?

Everything?

Because – if so – why did it feel like he had a ton of weight pressing down on his shoulders, while something resembling a hatchet had slammed into his chest, deep enough it could continually press against his heart.

From nowhere, he recalled a writer saying it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

That was complete horseshit.

Neal had never dealt with this level of anguish. This amount of pain. This depth of emotion. He’d much rather be innocent of love and everything that went with it.

Then again...

Neal’s mind drifted back to his wife. As he’d last seen her. Her dark lashes against her cheeks as she slept. Safely snuggled atop his bed. The dark pink of her gown contrasting with the off-white linen of his bedding...

Neal’s eyes grew moist. His breath caught. The hatchet in his chest twinged tortuously. He needed to cease reliving this. Especially if it had been a hallucination.

Or. Maybe. Just maybe. He was losing his sanity here. That was a distinct possibility.

Neal sighed heavily. Pulled off his sunglasses with one hand, wiped at his eyes with the other, and then unfastened his belts. He eased out of the seat next. The cockpit wasn’t tall enough to stand. He felt like he’d been on a three-day drunk. He was stiff. Sore. Every muscle was in on the act. He even had a cramp in the arch of one foot.

But above all that was pain that his heart just wouldn’t cease pumping out. His situation didn’t improve once he reached the door, either. Neal held to the doorframe of the Cessna and took a step down. Another. He felt frail. Drained. Oh.
Hell
. This was ridiculous. There were only four steps. He could do it. The sound of a truck engine caught his attention. Neal looked up, and watched a fuel truck enter the hangar. It parked next to the Cessna. A driver hopped out. He wore a red shirt bearing the Straithmore spiral logo. In black. The truck had the same emblem on the door, as did the tank in back.

There was a definite drip of oil hanging off the right end loop.

“Eric.”

Neal’s voice was weak. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Eric.”  This time it was heard. His assistant turned from greeting the driver and jogged over.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Why is a Straithmore logo on that truck?”

The kid looked over his shoulder as if to verify things and then turned back. “Because it’s one of ours.”

“One of our...what?”

“Trucks.”

“We don’t have fuel trucks.”

“Yeah we do. You’ve got an entire fleet of them. And semi-trucks. And oil tankers. How else would we get Straithmore Petroleum delivered?”

“Straithmore
what
?”

Shock was a debilitating event. Neal’s knees buckled. He sagged onto his butt on the top step of the ladder. That hurt. The linen pants didn’t have enough padding in them. He stared at Eric. The kid looked unsure. Confused. But entirely honest.

And exactly like Rory.

“Straithmore Petroleum,” Eric repeated.

“I don’t own petroleum.”

“What? Uh. Did something happen out there that you’re not telling me? Because this is coming from way out of left field, boss. Petroleum is your family business. You’re like, the definition of an oil magnate. Fifth richest man in the world, but that’s about to change.”

“
Fifth
richest?
Fifth
?”

Neal was reeling. He was amazed Eric didn’t notice. But maybe nothing showed physically.

“Heck, you might get to number three when the congressional vote goes through. Straithmore stock is going to go through the roof.”

“What...congressional vote?”

It felt like darkness was closing in. On all sides of him. And the kid didn’t even seem to notice.

“You’ve been lobbying for years to get the arctic opened up for drilling. It’s about to pay off. Looks like the vote will finally go our way this session.”

“No.”

“Well. Yeah. And it was a long, hard fight.”

“This can’t be happening. It can’t.”

Because that meant it had really happened.

Neal didn’t dare consider it. Not even momentarily. He could barely handle the agony of every heartbeat now. He was actually afraid.

“What can’t be happening?”

Go with what you know, Neal.
“What about global warming? Climate control? Carbon footprint?” 

“Whoa. Boss. I can’t believe I’m hearing those words coming from you. You know global warming is something that happens all the time. It’s cyclical. Part of earth’s evolution. Climate control is just a couple of words used for political hype. And, as you continually point out, the idea of carbon footprint is not based on solid scientific data. We’ve had studies done to back our side.”

“
Our
side?”  Neal shook his head.

“You know the business inside and out. Your family has been in oil since...I don’t know. The very beginning. You helped design the current ads. ‘Oil is what made the country great. And Straithmore Petroleum
is
oil’.”

“Oh, my God.”  Neal felt faint. He lowered his head to his bent knees and started hyperventilating. This couldn’t be happening.

It just couldn’t.

For this scenario to be true...

It meant Neal had really been back in 1803! He’d traveled through time. Messed with fate, just like Lady Blair had done. This was the result.

This was also proof he’d met Ainslee! Fallen in love. Wed her by proclamation. She’d existed! Everything had really happened. At the thought, the hatchet in his chest turned into a live thing that started eating away at his heart, elevating everything to an agonizing level. Neal fought sobs. The ladder shook, rattling along the concrete floor.

“Are you...all right, boss?”

Neal shook his head. He was devastated. Ill. Making words was beyond him at the moment. Taking each breath was about the most he could handle.

“Is there anything...I can do?”

Eric was so young. So capable. He didn’t know he was the sole benefactor of Neal’s estate. It was time the kid found out.

The darkness surrounding him began to subside.

Neal felt a vestige of hope.

The weight he’d felt on his shoulders eased. But the feeling of a blade within his chest cavity didn’t budge. He wondered how long a human could live with such a sensation before they couldn’t take it anymore. And ended it. Like Lady Blair had done.

Wow.

The future looked pretty damned bleak.

“Boss?” 

Eric’s voice grated. The shouting he started up was worse. Neal hunched his shoulders.

“Somebody get me some water! Cold! Of course, bottled! He doesn’t drink anything else.”

No. Not bottled. Damn it.

Neal took a deep breath. Tensed the muscles in his gut. Stood up. He’d never been the type to wait for destiny. He made his own. Always had. And, while he couldn’t do a darn thing about his future, he could definitely work on the global issue.

“Eric?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Go run me a glass of tap water. Not bottled. Plastic is one of the world’s pollution problems.”

“All right. Who are you? And what have you done with the real Neal Straithmore?”

Eric didn’t sound serious. A glance showed his wide grin. Neal almost smiled in response. And then the irony hit him. Here he was – the real Neal in the correct body – and somebody actually asked for identification?

“I’m definitely Neal Straithmore, kid. And, before you question it, I’m in full control of my faculties. I’m about to change a lot of things. I’ve just had...why don’t we call it an epiphany? That’s a good word. Which isn’t that unbelievable, given the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?”

“We just cheated death. Remember?”

“And it was really cool! We should tell someone. Everyone. The media! You want to give a press conference?”

“Eric—”

Eric’s face fell at Neal’s tone. “Can we at least discuss it?” 

“Maybe. Do I still have a...place in Miami?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Eric. I didn’t tell you before, but I’ve been experiencing TIA episodes. They’re called mini-strokes. They can leave one...disoriented. A little forgetful.”

“Holy hell! Are you all right?”

“For the moment. Yes. Thanks. But we have bigger problems. Do we have a way to get to Miami?”

“On it.” 

Eric snagged a cell phone from his back pocket. Neal watched him scroll a finger across the screen. Good. Technology hadn’t altered much, if any. That was one plus to his return.

“The Hummer will be here in five.”

“The Hummer?”  Neal was actually surprised that the words came out without one hint of inflection.

“Yeah.”

“I have a Hummer, too?”

“Everyone in the company drives them. They have the highest safety rating. They’re roomy. And they look really cool.”

“I suppose I have a fleet of helicopters at my disposal, too? Big, fuel-guzzling ones?”

“Well...yeah. Would you rather take a flight?” 

Eric pulled out his cell phone again. Neal stuck his hand up.

“No. No. A drive is fine. And I have some...research to do. I don’t think I can do that in a chopper.”

“Good thing we equipped the executive Hummers with command centers. You’ll have everything you need.”

He had a command center. In a Hummer. The fuel rating had to be worse than dismal.

Well.

Neal knew where to start with the changes.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

A vehicle entered the hangar. It wasn’t just a Hummer. It was a stretch Hummer limo. Charcoal-toned with a black chromed Straithmore spiral logo. The unit came complete with black windows, too. Neal had to admit, as it pulled to a stop and a driver stepped out, the vehicle was really cool. And that was before he saw the command center.

The entire back section was a mobile office. It came complete with swivel chairs, small desks, computers, monitors. Compact. Masculine. Black leather swivel seats surrounded and massaged. Neal slid into one, and turned on his monitor.

Ah. Excellent.

His passwords were still the same. He barely heard Eric join him. The door shut. The driver got back in the front. They began moving. The motion was a barely noticeable waver of his body in the seat. Neal didn’t even notice it. But he was busy typing letters into the search engine.

‘Iain Straithmore.’

The search took micro-seconds. And he had a lot of entries for Iain Straithmore to look over. Neal added clarification to his search bar.

‘Iain Straithmore. 1804.’

A couple of links showed up. Neal clicked on one. It was a listing in an ancestry site. A marriage had taken place in the state of New York between an Iain Straithmore from Scotland, and a New York woman, Rebecca Township.

Well. Well. Well.

His progenitor had also found love, and not long after he’d arrived in New York, either. That explained why Neal had an American passport and not one from the UK. It didn’t explain the oil mess. Neal went back to the opening search screen.

‘Straithmore Petroleum.’

The screen loaded with thousands of sites to look through. Neal went back to the search bar. Added a codicil.

‘Straithmore Petroleum, first stock purchase.’

The fourth site down was an article from a business magazine. Neal scanned it rapidly. And...finally!

His great-grandfather had been interviewed in nineteen twenty-one. The reporter had asked about the Straithmore family’s uncanny luck in the stock market. Great-grand-dad was quoted as saying every Straithmore received one word when they inherited. It had been passed down from Iain Straithmore. On his death-bed he’d said some cryptic words. Neal enlarged the letters on the screen. Apparently he needed reading glasses all-of-a-sudden.

Damn aging issues.

‘Iain Straithmore said he’d been told to buy iron and then steel from a very wise man. He knew to buy them even before they were available. And...while Iain couldn’t remember the exact instructions, one word stuck with him. Petroleum. He didn’t know what it was, but when it was available, they needed to do something with it.’

“Damn it!”  Neal swore aloud.

“Boss?”

He should have written the instructions down! Then again, he shouldn’t have even sent Iain to New York in the first place. And if Neal ever made it back to Ainslee, he was never messing with the future again.

Ever.

His heart pinged painfully at the thought of her. He started another search before pain overtook his mental exercise. He typed in ‘Straith Petroleum’. No hits came up for that combination. Neal tried again with ‘Straith stock’. Then ‘Straith fortune’.

Nothing came up that mattered.

This was really strange. Neal had sent Iain to New York with a hundred pounds. He was supposed to buy stock in the Straith name. Iain had enough for the journey, and Neal had added ten more pounds for Iain to buy stock if he so wanted. If Iain’s purchase made his heirs so rich, what had happened to the Straith family fortune that should have ensued? Could Iain have stolen the hundred pounds?

Had Neal misread the man’s character that badly?

No
.

It had to be something else.

Neal typed in ‘Duke of Straithcairn.’  Scanned for the most recent one. And..

There!

The current Duke of Straithcairn was forty-five. He was the eleventh in an unbroken line stretching back to the seventeenth century. His name was Reagan. He was married. Had two children, a son and a daughter. His son’s name was Alexander. His daughter Annabelle. His wife...?

Neal’s heart stopped. His entire chest hurt. He’d rather take a blow.

The current duchess was named Ainslee.

Neal swiped a hand across his eyes to clear his vision. He’d been avoiding it long enough. He typed in her name and the year.

‘Ainslee Straith. 1803.’

There was a record of a marriage between Niall Straith and a Miss Ainslee MacAffrey. Nothing more. Neal broadened the search.

‘Ainslee Straith – nineteenth century.’

There were a lot of Ainslee Straith’s. Apparently, it was a family name. Neal went through site after site after site. Read nothing about his Ainslee. If she’d had a child, Neal couldn’t find a birth record. He couldn’t even find a death certificate for her. He couldn’t find anything. He smacked the keyboard in disgust.

And then he knew his next move.

He needed to get back there. To Castle Straith. The current duke would know what had happened. Everything was entered in the family bible. There would be a record of his Ainslee.  

And he really needed to reach Huntsman’s Dale. Get to the exact spot it had happened. Wearing the ring. And hope like hell a storm showed up. It was a long shot. Chances were slender, at best. But, if he was going to perish of a broken heart, he’d rather have it happen on Scot soil. So he could, at least, feel close to her again.

“Hey. Eric?”

“Yeah?”

The kid had been doing social networking on his monitor. His interest in his boss hadn’t changed. He obviously still had little of it. He cocked his head to listen.

“What are your feelings about oil?”

Eric swiveled in his chair and looked at Neal for a long time. Then he replied with something very interesting.

“We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Really?”

The kid nodded.

“And. To refresh my memory. Your thoughts are...?”

“I think we should diversify. Get into some of the energy renewal initiatives. Work toward saving the planet, not just using its resources.”

“With an opinion like that, I’m surprised you work for me,” Neal commented.

“Well. I did graduate at the top of my class. Made it through an applicant process that eliminated more than a few. But I had an edge. We’re related.” 

Neal stilled. “How closely?” he asked.

“We’re from the same area of Scotland. Same clan. My grandma was a Straith. She married an Irishman, hence my last name.”

And just like that, Neal got the explanation of why Eric was Rory’s doppelganger. “Ah. We’re cousins,” Neal said. “That’s...interesting. Thanks.”

“That’s all you wanted?”

“For now.”

The kid went back to his multi-screen conversations. Neal turned back to his monitor.

Wait.

He’d inadvertently clicked something that brought up images. His photo appeared in multiple shots all across the monitor. Apparently, he went to a lot of events that required a tuxedo. He looked bored in most of them. The recent ones had a gorgeous blond on his arm.

Oh. Shit.

Lindsey.

Neal had completely forgotten her. He swiveled his chair to face Eric again.

“Hey. Eric.”

“Yeah, boss?” Eric asked from over his shoulder.

“Did we leave a woman in Aruba?”

The kid chuckled. “Well. Yeah. We did. Lindsey. I don’t know what happened. You didn’t say. I didn’t ask.”

“I see. Send her a huge bouquet of flowers. An apology. A plane ticket back. Tell her I’ll explain everything after I return from a sabbatical.”

The kid turned back to face Neal. “You’re taking a sabbatical?”

“The moment I get packed. And a flight booked.”

“Why don’t you just take a corporate jet?”

“Because I’m going on a sabbatical. I will not be available. I may not even take my phone.”

“You’re going off-grid?”

“And then some.”  Neal smiled as he recited the words.

“Um. Who is gonna run the company while you’re...not available?”

“Good point. Have the driver stop by my attorney’s office.”

“Your attorney’s office?”

“They still have an office in Miami, don’t they?”

“They’re located in one of the buildings you own.”

“Well. Of course they are. With my interest in blocking anything that might save the planet, I probably need lawyers under my feet. I hope they’re not getting a bargain on the rent.”

Eric snickered.

“You told me I’m the fifth richest man in the world, right?”

“Yeah. You are.”

“Well, I’m going to transfer that problem, Eric.”

“It’s not a problem that I can see.”

“You are about to find out, young man. But. Before I give you. Power of Attorney. Will you promise me something?”

Eric’s jaw dropped. His mouth kept opening and shutting, but nothing came out. That was almost entertaining enough to break through the ache Neal was living with.

“Buy yourself the new Tesla. Take it out on a race track. I think you’ll love it.”