Shift (ChronoShift Trilogy) (35 page)

“It means that I think I can build you a device using today’s technology which could remotely detect the time to which a person has shifted.”

“So, if I were to shift to 1798, for example, with this other detection device, you could know that I’d gone to the year 1798 without having seen the display on my watch?”

“Not only that, I could know the hour, even the second.  It would be like a radar detector, but for these shifter watches — and more exact.”

Rialto was impressed.  His mind was already racing with the possibilities.  “How big would it be?  It would only be useful to me if the device were small and portable, say the size of a cell phone.”

“No problem.  Detectors don’t require much power.  For me to develop this, though, would require a lot of funds.”

“Done.  So what was your solution to getting the watch off my wrist?”

“Hold on.”  Irvine rolled his chair back and opened a set of plastic drawers on top of his desk.  He pulled out a cylindrically shaped piece of glass.

“I molded this from your other wrist.  It’s a glass cuff.  I’m guessing the watch band constricts when it detects your body's electrical field.  The fact that the watch loosens when a person dies would seem to confirm my hypothesis.  From there, it was simple.  Glass is a good insulator.  I figure if we slip this cuff between your skin and the watch, it should no longer be able to detect your electrical field and will loosen.”

“Let’s try it.”

Irvine clamped the cuff around Rialto’s wrist and wriggled it underneath his watch band, which was not an easy feat due to the tight fit.

“Nothing’s happening.”

“It may be a timing issue.  Perhaps it has to fail to detect your electric field for a short time before loosening.”

“No, I’ve seen it happen before.  It’s always immediate.”

Stanley involuntarily shuddered at the thought that Rialto might have been in a position to see such a thing happen more than once — and what that meant.

“I’ll keep working on it,” he said.

***

February 16
^th
, 2013, Boston, MA

Savannah heard an odd noise coming from Mark’s office.   Eventually, worry overcame her reluctance to intrude.  She gently pushed the door open a crack, hesitated, and then pushed it wider.

“Mark?”

He was crying.  The back of his chair was all she could see, but she could hear him crying, and she knew what about.  Laura.

“Just leave me alone.”  He sniffed, trying to hide it.

It had been several weeks since the altercation with Hardy, and more than a month since Laura had broken it off with him.  She knew what Mark had gone through with the loss of his family.  He always spoke of his children, but she knew wife’s abandonment had hit him hard, more than even he realized.  She’d always suspected his infatuation with Laura had been a subconscious desperation born of that pain.  Losing Laura then had felt like he was losing Kelly all over again, made worse by the suspicion that one of his only friends in the world had betrayed him.

“Mark.  You can’t keep on like this.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not, Mark.  Let me help.”

He swiveled his chair to face her.  He was slumped low and his body looked very loose, his eyes puffy from crying.  The odor of stale Whiskey filled her nose.  He was drunk.  He’d been drinking a lot lately.

“What would you do, Savannah?  Have you ever had your heart broken before?”

His eyes were pleading.  It was the weakest she’d ever seen him.  Normally, Mark Carpen was a dominating, strong presence, but now, it seemed more than just his heart had been broken.

“Yes, I have.”  She went to him and held his head against her side, caressing his hair slowly in an effort to bring some comfort.  “But Mark, you have to snap out of this.  I’m afraid for you.  You’re spiraling down....”

“I know.”  He wiped at his eyes with his sleeves, pulling away from her.  “You’ve been good to me, Savannah.  You’re a good friend.”

She sat heavily in the chair across from him.  “I haven’t done anything.”

“Yes, you have.  You’ve been such a blessing....and I’ve just taken you for granted.  How can I ever repay you?”

She blushed, but said nothing.  He’d embarrassed her.

“Surely, there’s something.”                          

She whispered so softly he could barely hear it.  “I just....it was nothing....you were in need.”

“You stuck around when no one else did, not Ty, not....”  He was going to say ‘Hardy’ but anger choked the name in his throat.  “Surely, there’s something I can do for you.  Let me do something for you.  It would help me feel better, I think.”

“Stop drinking.”

He took that like a slap, visibly hurt by how obvious his flaws had become.  “Sure,” he croaked, choking on emotion again.  “That’s a given.  I’ll do that.  But what about you, what can I do for you?”

She looked hard and long into his beautiful, steel blue eyes.  She knew what she wanted, but the fact that she couldn’t have it was as obvious as the drunken tears Mark kept wiping from his face.  Those tears were for Laura.  Plus, what could a man like him find attractive in a mousy nobody like her.

“Nothing, I’m fine.  Really.  Just get better, okay?”

“Okay.”  He smiled for the first time in weeks.  She was relieved to see that.  She stood and walked out the door, back to her desk.

***

February 16
^th
, 2013, Boston, MA

Rialto’s plan was still in the rudimentary stages, but it was coming along nicely.  A personal visit to his acquaintance, Tony McGuire, in the Boston FBI office provided him with a rough sketch of who the major players were in the Massachusetts mafia.

He was looking for a couple of men who were second tier leaders in that criminal enterprise.  Men who were ambitiously seeking to rule, yet would never succeed due to a lack of opportunity or guts.

Stanley Graves was one such animal.  He was the number two man in the Alcamo crime family.  He was a very effective manager and his strategic maneuvering had increased the Alcamo family's status and position significantly.  Yet, he was not a naturally charismatic leader.  Men did not feel inclined to follow him, and when the current Alcamo head passed on, it was known the eldest Alcamo son would take the lead, whether he was fit or not, and not Graves.  Graves not being Italian didn’t help either.

Rialto had approached him delicately.  Once the subject had been broached and Rialto had dissipated the man’s incredulity with a demonstration, Graves had gladly signed on.  He knew his future was limited with the Alcamos, and Rialto was offering him unlimited possibilities in fulfilling his avaricious ambition, and all without the inconvenience of having to get other men to follow him.  The shifter would also allow Graves to leave the mafia without violent repercussions.  They couldn't kill him if they couldn't find him.

            Once Irvine the physicist was done studying the second watch, Rialto gave it to Graves, who would work for him for the next sixteen years until Rialto killed him.  Sixteen years would pass for Graves between now and then, but Rialto didn’t have to wait that long.  Immediately, after giving Graves the shifter, Rialto shifted forward to the year 2029.  He approached his employee at home one evening and killed him, just as he had Ty.  Taking Graves’ loosened shifter off his dead body, Rialto then returned to 2013.

Vincent Torino was a mercenary.  Hit man would be a better term, actually, but he didn’t work for any one crime family.  He freelanced his services to whoever needed him, which was a neat trick in the world of the
mafiosos
.  His continued existence meant he was either very successful in keeping his hits from being associated with him, or every family was so intimidated by him that they just left him alone.

Rialto guessed Torino would be excited about the opportunities a time-travel device could bring, and he was right.

Torino also accepted the shifter and professed permanent commitment to Rialto’s team as part of the deal.

Rialto was establishing his primary base of operations in that industrial complex down in Baltimore where Irvine had his lab so he could always be near DC, but he was developing a secondary one here in Boston.  His prime target was here, so they needed to be close.

He had asked Torino and Graves to meet him in this abandoned warehouse for an initial briefing.  These men would be hard to control, not being governed by the normal ethics of most.  They would be somewhat bound to him by common desires and criminal ambitions, but Rialto needed an extra assurance of their faithfulness.

“Gentlemen, I’ll be brief,” he said.  “I am not here to control you or limit your achievement.  These shifters are yours to use for your own pleasure, but when I call, you respond.  We will work together on certain common endeavors.”

“And if we don’t?”  Graves asked.

“Look over there.  See that shifter?”  Rialto pointed to a gray colored device on a table approximately thirty feet away.  They nodded.  It was actually a plastic mock up of a shifter, but it looked real enough.  He’d had Irvine create it specifically for this meeting.  Neither Graves nor Torino had any way of knowing it was a non-functional copy.

Rialto held up a triggering device and made a point of letting them see him depress a button in its center.  An explosion immediately ripped through the table, cutting it in half and disintegrating the fake shifter.

Both men stumbled from their seats as the shock wave hit them.  From that distance, it wasn’t a big enough explosion to hurt anybody, but it was clear that if someone had been wearing the watch, they would be dead.

“Each of your shifters has an explosive device like that one embedded in its core,” he lied.  “I have the triggers.”

Both men glared.  They were neatly trapped in his snare and they knew it.

“And we can’t get these things off, can we?”  Torino growled.

“Sorry.  I should also mention that my own device has an extra feature.  If my body should become lifeless, my shifter automatically sends an activating signal to all other shifters, detonating them.  So, it
is
in your best interest to make sure I stay alive.”

They were not happy.  In fact, they were seething, but they’d simmer down eventually and get used to it.  He wouldn’t push them too hard.  He’d help them make millions, billions even.  Heck, he’d just give it to them.  That would make up for some of their anger.  When the time was right, he'd make them work.

In the meantime, he needed to get done with this meeting so he could shift forward to 2029 and kill Torino.  He was just lending them these shifters after all, even if they didn’t know it yet.

April 17
^th
, 2013, Boston, MA

Mark rubbed his temples vigorously, staring at the financial statement in front of him.  Something was definitely off.   He’d thought his accounts were a little low last month when he’d gotten the summaries from his accountant.  This time, however, there was no doubt.

His total net worth should have been somewhere around $25 billion.  This month’s financials showed only $21 billion.  He checked the previous month’s summary.  It also showed around $21 billion. 
Yet, he distinctly remembered $25 billion.
  Somehow four billion dollars had disappeared.

Mark snatched the phone receiver from its base.

“Savannah?”

“Yes, Mark?”

“Get Ty on the phone for me, please.  I need to see him right away.”

***

“What’s up, Mark?”

Ty sat opposite Mark in his office dressed in casual slacks and a polo shirt.  He was slouched comfortably, hands laced behind his head.

“Something’s wrong with my accounts.”

“What do you mean ‘something’s wrong’?” Ty asked.

“We’re missing some money.”

“How much?”

“Roughly $4 billion.”

Ty let out a low whistle.  “That ain’t chump change.  Did someone steal it?”

“No....I don’t think someone stole it....at least not this year.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m supposed to have around $25 billion all together.  My latest statement, which just arrived, only showed a net worth of $21 billion.  If it’d been stolen or embezzled, previous statements would still show the $25 billion, but they don’t.  They also show $21 billion.”      

“Maybe you’re just remembering wrong.”

“Could be.  At least, I could be wrong if I wasn’t so sure about the fact that I had $25 billion, not $21.  Plus, last month, I thought the accounts were slightly lower than I expected, but it wasn’t enough of a difference to be sure.  This time, though, I’m sure.”

Ty asked, “How do you explain the previous statements matching this month’s, then?”

“For the sake of argument, let’s say something happened in the past to change the outcome of one of my financial transactions, which would affect the whole of my portfolio, say to the tune of four billion dollars.  Now, let’s say this change happened twenty years ago.  How would we perceive that change in history today?”