The Navigators (13 page)

“Well, Mr. Findlay…” Jonas cleared his throat. “Based on what I’m seeing and hearing, do you think that would be a good idea?”

“I don’t know. Do you think a grad student hiding a stolen time machine in their apartment is a good idea?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I
saw
it, Jonas.” Findlay held the microphone close to his mouth. “A time machine. It exists, and they have it. I think that’s a helluva story.”

Brown paused. “I’m listening.”

“Think about it. I was called in to analyze a device that Barry Helm and his nutjob crew of pseudo paleontology students stole from central Florida mine number 31. They found a time machine, Jonas,
and I can prove it!”

Findlay held his cell phone up to the stationery TV camera at the front of the stage.

“I took pictures of it!”

Findlay continued waving his cell phone at the camera, working hard to get the interest in the story reignited. Jonas Brown, for his part, appeared ready to dump the whole thing and call it a day.

“Jonas, when Barry asked me to come see his discovery from the mine, I took pictures. Later, when I verified my data with Dr. Anderson, we agreed on what Barry had found.”

“And you’re saying that is…”

“It’s a time machine. A bona fide, true to life, machine built to bridge time. That’s what our major scientific breakthrough announcement was supposed to be today, not the acceptance of another big grant. We had to dupe you guys a little bit, but now you get to do the
really
big story.”

“That’s pretty incredible, Mr. Findlay.” Frowning, he folded his arms over his chest.

“That’s right, it sure is.” Findlay maneuvered his way around the stage to get close to Dr. Anderson. “And I can show it to you.”

“Dr. Anderson, is this true?”

Findlay’s hook was baited. Anderson’s jaw flapped in the wind as the blood drained from his face. “Well, actually, Jonas, I, uh…”

Findlay leaned in close. “C’mon, Herb! Don’t be a pussy! It’s too late for that now.”

The crowd hushed. The loudspeakers were still on. Everyone looked at Dr. Anderson. Had he seen the time machine?

Anderson cleared his throat.

“Well, Jonas…”

The distant hum of a lawn mower was the only sound on the commons.

“Yes.” Dr. Anderson sat up straight and adjusted his tie. “Yes, I did meet with Mr. Findlay here, and together we verified the data he presented.”

Anderson puffed out his chest and took the microphone away from Findlay, walking around the stage and gesturing grandly. “And it
is
a time machine!
We
have acquired a working time machine.
Our
numbers bear it out.”

The crowd went wild.

“That’s… incredible!” Jonas’ eyes widened.

Findlay beamed. “It’s incredible, all right.”

“Quiet, Mr. Findlay.” Dr. Anderson covered the mic. “This isn’t just your big moment anymore. You got me into this mess, so I’m gonna cash in, too.” He lowered his voice. “We’re all gonna cash in.” A phony grin stretched across Anderson’s face. “There will be a lot of big time corporate interest in this now. So smile and wave, Findlay. Smile and wave. You little shit.”

Findlay smiled and waved.

Jonas Brown smiled, too. “Let’s get our news crew over there for the big reveal, fellas.”

“You got it, Jonas.” Dr. Anderson smiled, waving at the crowd.

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” Jonas stood and unclipped his mic from his suitcoat, holding it to his face. “Have some coffee and donuts ready, okay?”

Anderson’s head pumped up and down. “Okay, Jonas.”

The screen went dark. The crowd roared at the news. In thirty minutes, Chris Findlay, Dr. Anderson, and Jonas Brown would put USF on the map by showing the world a time machine hidden in Barry’s apartment.

Chapter Sixteen

F
indlay turned to the nearest producer, a tall black woman. “So, we have thirty minutes, then?”

“Oh, no, honey.” She coiled up the microphone cable. “We need to move
now
. It takes time to set up a news feed from a remote. How far away is this apartment we’re going to?”

“Like a mile or so.”

“Yeah, we need to get rolling asap, sugar. Give me the address.” She turned to her crew and shouted. “Pack up, everybody! I want two cameras for a live shot at the new location! We’re on again in thirty!”

Findlay stood, still wet from the water bombs. “Do I have time to get cleaned up?”

She looked him over, frowning. “I don’t think it’s gonna do much. You pasty white boys tend to wash out under the camera lights.”

* * * * *

Across campus, my escape had slowed from a run to a jog. I hadn’t seen anybody following me. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t be on me soon, though.

I finally allowed myself to walk. I was gassed. What a morning.

There was no way I could wait until I got all the way to the Pancake House. It was easily another thirty minute hike, maybe more. I had to find out what had happened. And I needed to pee. The local news would probably soon be replaying whatever they’d videoed at the commons, so the internet might have it now. I glanced around to see where I could take refuge.

I had almost made it to Chick-Fil-A.

After entering the restaurant, I used the restroom, ordered a soda, and sat. They had a big TV on in the lobby, replaying the melee on campus. Then they went back to a live feed.

“We are now just moments away,” the announcer said. “Channel 8 news crews are arriving at the apartment where USF computer science graduate student Chris Findlay has witnessed a working time machine hidden in his friend’s apartment.”

What! Findlay was taking them to Barry’s!

The loud buzz of an engine came over the roof. A news helicopter soared by. Onscreen, the TV announcer continued. “Findlay claims the machine was stolen from a central Florida mine and stashed in the apartment of two USF graduate paleontology students, who are also mentioned by authorities as being ‘persons of interest’ in the theft. We are coming to you
live
from near the USF campus, where the time machine will be revealed to us—and to all of you—next. Stay tuned.”

They went to commercial, but they did a split screen to show the live shot from the news helicopter as it showed a parade of cars descending on Barry’s apartment complex. They would be at his door in no time.

* * * * *

As the helicopter circled overhead, swarms of students cascaded into the apartment complex, not knowing which building or apartment was Barry’s.

For that, they needed Findlay. He had shrewdly withheld Barry’s apartment number. He wasn’t about to get dealt out again.

The producer walked up to him and put a hand on her hip. “Any chance you’re gonna tell us which door, sugar?”

“No way.” Findlay folded his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn’t either.” She winked at him. “Okay then, you’re on in a sec.” She motioned to the cameras. “Camera one, be ready to go in close and get any action. Camera two, stay on your tripod and get set shots and wide views.” As they nodded, she sipped a coffee. “Okay. Light it up.”

A bright set of camera lights beamed into Findlay’s pasty white face. He squinted.

“Findlay, you’re on in thirty seconds,” the producer said. “Be ready. I will count you down from five. Watch for my hand.” She waved. “Over here.”

He blinked, wiping his hands on his shirt.

She grinned at him. “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.”

The impeccably dressed Jonas Brown popped out of a nearby van. He marched to Findlay, scowling. “This is supposed to be my shot, kid.”

Findlay gulped.

“On in ten, Jonas.”

“Okay.” Jonas straightened his jacket and turned toward the camera, then glanced at Findlay. “Don’t fuck this up.”

“Five . . . four . . . three . . . ”

The producer’s hand wagged two fingers, then one, then she pointed at Jonas Brown and Findlay. They were now live, beaming out to millions of viewers.

* * * * *

I watched it all unfold from Chick-Fil-A. The ghost-faced Findlay looked like he was going to shit his pants. Then the perfectly coiffed anchorman began to speak.

“Jonas Brown, here, coming to you
live
from the campus of the University of South Florida, where a fantastic discovery has been made.” The shot widened to include Findlay. “With us this morning is Chris Findlay, a student in computer science here at USF.” Jonas put the microphone in front of Findlay’s mouth “Mr. Findlay, what can you tell us about what we’re going to see this morning?”

Findlay froze. The bright lights and all the excitement seemed to have finally gotten to him. He slowly opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

* * * * *

“Mr. Findlay?” Jonas Brown prompted.

The stage director caught Findlay’s eye. He managed to look at her. She nodded and mouthed some words.
You’re okay. Breathe.

He breathed.

She smiled.
Go on
, she mouthed.

Findlay’s thoughts started returning to him. “Jonas,” he said. “Jonas Brown.”

He flipped the switch and lit up. “Jonas Brown!” Findlay took a deep breath. “Whew! Buddy, just wait ‘til you see what I have for you behind door number one!”

He was back. Findlay had recovered and was now on his game, embracing what would be his big moment. “As incredible as it may seem to your viewers, I witnessed a time machine–an actual, working time travel device–right here in this apartment behind us. It was recovered from a central Florida mine, and
stolen
from the University. And it’s just up those stairs.”

“You say it was stolen, Mr. Findlay?”

“That’s right. Paleontology student Barry Helm stole the property off the USF campus after delivering it to Dean Anderson in the paleontology lab.” Findlay grinned at the camera. “The thieves asked me to help identify what it was, but of course I had no idea it was stolen. And then, once they knew what they had, they removed the device from the campus and hid it here in this apartment.”

“They
stole
it?” Jonas’ baritone voice dramatized the moment. “That’s quite a charge.”

“They did. They stole it. I have the documents right here, all signed by Dr. Anderson, the Dean of Paleontology.” He held a log sheet up to the camera. “These papers say that Barry Helm and the other suspects checked the machine into the USF paleontology lab.”

* * * * *

I jumped out of my chair and screeched at the TV. “That’s a lie!” Then I lowered myself back down and hunched my shoulders, checking to see if anybody in the Chick-Fil-A had called the cops. A few employees stared at me before returning to their duties.

“The documents are right here, Jonas,” Findlay said. Then, he went Hollywood “These log sheets prove that they stole the machine! And the stolen time machine is right up these steps! Follow me!”

Findlay turned and stormed up the steps to Barry’s apartment. The news cameras followed.

My heart was in my throat
. Holy shit! They’ve got Barry dead to rights! It’s all over.

Findlay paused in front of Barry’s front door. Next to him, Jonas Brown straightened his jacket again. As the cameras moved into position, he whispered to Findlay. “We really should cut to a commercial and go in after the break for maximum viewer tease and a big draw on the reveal.”

Findlay stared back with a blank face.

The camera lights went on again. Jonas stood rigid as ever. “We are here, live, ready to go into the purported suspect’s apartment, where - ”

Findlay tried the doorknob. It was unlocked.

Jonas Brown interrupted himself. “Mr. Findlay, do we have permission - ”

Findlay ignored him. “Barry! Its Chris Findlay and Jonas Brown from channel 8! We’re coming in!”

He pushed open the door.

The TV camera refocused and zoomed in on Barry’s apartment, scanning the living room. We all looked around with it as it beamed the contents into houses all around the Tampa Bay area.

There stood Barry’s couch. His coffee table. And directly across from it was…

Nothing. The machine was gone.

Jonas was visibly dismayed. “What’s going on here Mr. Findlay?”

Undaunted, Findlay waved Jonas off. “Stay with me, JB. I know it’s in here.” He began to run around Barry’s apartment like a maniac, checking behind counters and in closets. “Barry!” Findlay yelled. “I know you’re in here! What did you do with the machine!”

Shaking his head, Jonas made the “cut” signal by waving his hand across his throat.

Just then, a thump came from the bathroom.

Findlay’s eyes widened. “He’s in the bathroom with it!” He charged ahead. “Come on!”

An ambitious cameraman knocked Jonas aside, sprinting across the apartment.

“You can’t go in there,” Jonas shouted. “It’s trespassing.”

The cameraman scurried after Findlay. “If I win a Pulitzer, I won’t care!”

Reaching the bathroom at the far side of the living room, Findlay stood ready, shrewdly waiting for the camera to catch up. “Barry!” he called with added dramatic flair. “Come on out. It’s all over!”

Findlay put his hand on the door knob and glanced at the cameraman. “Be sure to get this, camera one.”

He slowly turned the knob.

“Ready…

“Set…

“GO!”

Findlay threw open the door to reveal… Nothing.
Again
.

From Chick-Fil-A, I saw the toilet, the sink... and the shower curtain.

Findlay stared at it and hesitated for a moment.

The curtain flew back. Riff smiled as the cameras zoomed in. He pulled back his fist and punched Findlay right in the head.

Findlay fell to the floor in a heap.

Riff scowled at the cameraman. “Did you get that, camera one?”

“That’s the money shot, baby!” The cameraman backpedalled away from Riff and scampered out of the apartment.

Jonas Brown was not amused. “I need to apologize to our viewers at home.” He took a deep breath and adjusted his jacket. “I’m sorry. This appears to have all been an elaborate hoax.” Findlay groaned in the background. Jonas ignored it.

“I’m Jonas Brown for news channel 8. Back to you in the studio.”

* * * * *

“Aaand we’re done,” The producer lowered her headset microphone. “That’s it people, let’s go. Nothing to see here.”

“Except a breaking and entering charge for Chris Findlay!” Riff slammed the front door shut.

“Except for that.” The producer retreated down the stairs.