Time's Divide (The Chronos Files Book 3) (13 page)

G
EORGETOWN
U
NIVERSITY

September 11, 7:40 a.m.

When I helped Mom get ready for her research trip, one of my chores was moving books from her office back to the townhouse so she could pack them up and ship them to Italy. History professors have an insane number of books, all of them heavy. Rather than renting a truck, Mom decided it was cheaper and easier—for
her
,
at least—if I carted the boxes downstairs and hailed a cab a few times.

Given that Mom was tied up in meetings and I was spending a good twelve hours each day on CHRONOS-related research, I decided it would be an even better idea to skip the part about lugging boxes and hailing cabs. I set a local point in her on-campus office, packed up the boxes, and jumped back to the stable point in our living room. I was done in half an hour.

Now I’m doubly glad I took that shortcut. No one is in Mom’s building at 7:40 in the morning. A few minutes later I’m across Copley Lawn, stepping onto the sidewalk at O Street, and I’m at Dean & DeLuca before eight. I’d have been there even earlier, but I ducked into this place I like better over on O to snag coffee and a biscotti.

Not an indulgence—well, except for the biscotti. The coffee is an integral part of my plan.

It’s more like 8:15 when a black sedan pulls up in front of the shop. The driver lets Ellicott out and heads down the block, taking a left at Wisconsin. A few minutes later, the car has circled around the block so that it’s on Potomac Street, right across from the café.

I lean against the brick wall and wait. Several minutes later, Ellicott exits the shop in her horribly vivid blue suit, holding coffee and her little white bag of unhealthy breakfast. She doesn’t notice me until the last 20 percent of my coffee—now lukewarm—connects with the front of her jacket.

Even then, she doesn’t look me in the eye. I mutter an apology and she mutters an expletive. By that time, her car is at the curb. She pulls off the jacket once she’s in the backseat and starts dabbing it with a napkin as the sedan drives away.

I walk down the other side of Potomac until I spot an alley between a yoga studio and an office building. Then I pull out the key and jump back to the conference room, thirty seconds after I left.

F
IFTH
C
OLUMN
HQ

September 11, 9:42 a.m.

Everyone is where they were when I blinked out. Selene Ellicott wears the same perturbed expression, same blond hair helmet, same impeccable manicure. The only thing marring her otherwise spotless look is a brown splotch near her shoulder.

“Sorry about your jacket.”

I take my phone out of my pocket and pull up the photo I snapped before leaving. Then I walk around the table and show it to everyone, making sure they get a good look. “This phone has been in my possession since I disappeared, under a CHRONOS field the entire time. As you see, Senator Ellicott’s jacket wasn’t stained when I left. I went back and bumped into her with my coffee—”

Her eyes narrow. “And I’ll be sending you the bill. This jacket is Max Mara!”

“Sorry,” I repeat, but even to my own ears it doesn’t sound genuine. “I needed something that wouldn’t affect everyone . . . that wouldn’t change the course of the meeting. This was the best I could come up with on short notice.”

“You could have done that with Photoshop,” Ellicott says, nodding at the phone.

“What about her disappearing?” Charlayne says. “And reappearing? Was that Photoshop, too?”

“The fact that she disappeared doesn’t mean she was time traveling. She could have been cloaked or something.”

I sigh.

So does Max. “Come on! We’re facing a major disaster that could happen at any time. You know it’s the truth—Tilson proved it with the newspaper, and now she’s proved it again with the coffee. If you’re not convinced, go home and stay out of our way. We don’t have time for this shit.”

Max ranks high on my jerk list after barging into Katherine’s house and generally giving me a hard time. I’m about to award him brownie points for this until he glares at me again. He isn’t out to do me any favors. He’s just tired of wasting time.

There’s a moment of silence, then the balding guy says, “I still want to know how that medallion works before I make any—”

“Unfortunately,” Tilson says, “we have neither the ability to determine exactly how it works nor how to replicate it.” He stresses the last two words, and the other man’s mouth twitches downward. “And while this goes against my general belief that knowledge is never a bad thing, our government lacked the wisdom to safeguard this knowledge three hundred years from now. It would be a mistake to believe we possess that wisdom today.”

He clicks to the next slide, and the top half of the
Washington Post
fills the screen.
Mystery Virus Sweeps Through Major Cities Here and Abroad.
The image below the headline is a street strewn with bodies, some holding children. A worker who seems to be checking a woman in the foreground for vital signs wears bio-gear that looks a lot like the suits Kiernan and I wore to Six Bridges. The sign in the background behind her reads
Hôpital Necker–Enfants Malades.

My throat tightens and panic starts to set in as I glance up to confirm the date.

September 17th. Less than one week from today.

“As you can see, this is the front page from the paper you viewed earlier. Not exactly what we expected when Ma—” Tilson clears his throat. “When Miss Keller brought the newspaper this morning.”

I glance over at Max, because I’m pretty sure that Tilson was about to say his name before he caught himself. That explains why Max looks like death warmed over. It wasn’t just because he felt that jolt to the timeline. He already knew what caused it. I just don’t get why they’re hiding the fact that he can use the key, when that should be counted in the asset column.

A voice comes from the computer. This time it’s Julia. “Each of you in the room today is here because you will be needed within the next few days, either to provide a service or to help us gain access to a required facility. Your loyalty to our faith isn’t in question, nor is your loyalty to our government, else you wouldn’t be in attendance. But I must stress that this is not a matter to be discussed outside this room. The usual penalty will apply for traitors to the Fifth Column.”

She pauses briefly, apparently to let this sink in. I think it does, because the color drains from several of the faces in the room. Then she continues, “Our goal is to prevent this crisis before it occurs. If we succeed, no other action will be required from you. Ellicott, West, and Pearson can go now. If you’re in, let me know through the usual channels within the next twelve hours. There’s no penalty should you choose not to assist, as long as you stay silent and out of our way. Although, quite frankly, if our preventive measures fail and any of you back out, I think there’s a decent chance the virus will ensure you aren’t around long enough to worry about penalties.”

∞9∞

F
IFTH
C
OLUMN
HQ

September 11, 10:05 a.m.

“How long have you known the date?” I ask Tilson after Senator Ellicott and the two men leave.

“Since Max showed up on my doorstep with the paper this morning.”

“And when did I bring you the sample from Six Bridges?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you that. It would have made much more sense to have that meeting first. Anything I say now might change something.”

“She
should
have met with you first,” Julia announces, closing the conference room door behind her as she enters the room, taking a seat near Tilson at the front of the table. “That was the original plan. Our deadline has moved forward, however, and I had to juggle things at the last minute.”

Julia glances down the conference table to where Charlayne, Ben, and I are seated. “Why don’t the three of you move up, rather than sitting at the back of the classroom?” She doesn’t mention Max, but he shifts into the seat that Ellicott vacated.

Once we’re all settled, she continues. “Max will transfer the coordinates for Tilson’s house to your key when we’re done here, Kate. My father contacted Tilson years before you’ll arrive, so there’s no need for discussion when you get there. Just give him the samples and leave.”

“Okay, you both keep using the word
samples
, plural. We collected a single sample from the well. Please tell me I don’t have to go back to Six Bridges.”

“You also brought a blood sample,” Tilson says. “From the girl who survived . . . ?”

“Martha.” The idea of drawing someone’s blood makes me feel faint, but it’s infinitely better than going back to that village.

My squeamishness must show, because Tilson says, a bit hesitantly, “I could try and get a sample from someone just after they were tattooed at one of the Orthodox temples, but it might raise suspicions.”

“But that’s not what you did before,” I say. “So I’d have to go back to whenever and tell you to get that sample, and who knows how many ripples that might cause—or whether it would even work. It’s okay. I can take the sample, but I’ll need the equipment and some instructions. How much blood? Does it matter when it’s taken?”

“You brought two vials, drawn approximately forty-eight hours after she received the vaccine. Or at least that’s what you said when . . .” He glances at Julia. “What will changing the order of her visit do to my memory? Am I going to remember two versions?”

“No,” she says. “You’re not under a CHRONOS key. This memory will just overwrite that one. You won’t have any idea we skipped all that deliberation.”

Tilson looks a bit unnerved, and I can’t say I blame him. As much as I hate the dual memories, I also don’t like knowing that not so long ago, two different time shifts changed the entire world around me and I didn’t know it. Having the CHRONOS gene meant I knew
something
happened, but I had no clue what. As awful as that experience was, it still might be better than knowing that changes could happen and you’d be totally and completely oblivious.

A tap on my shoulder snaps me out of my thoughts. Julia is behind me, her hand out. “The tablet and diary, please?”

I give her the tablet and dig into my jeans pocket for the spare key Connor gave me, hoping that it will appease her and maybe take her mind off the diary.

“Only one?” she asks, her mouth twisting downward.

“Connor disabled most of them. This is all we can spare.”

She doesn’t seem to believe me, but it’s mostly true. Connor kept back three to guard the house along with the ones that he and Katherine wear whenever they go outside, one with my dad, one with my mom, one with Trey, two for me (a primary and a spare), and one that’s attached to Daphne’s collar. I suspect that Julia would argue that several of those should be given to her, especially the one for Daphne, but we’ve got enough stress right now without risking our dog disappearing if she’s chasing a squirrel the next time the Cyrists start screwing around with reality.

Julia slips the medallion into a pocket, then holds out her hand again. “The diary?”

“This belongs to Katherine.”

“No, it belonged to my mother. I want it back.”

I give Max an apologetic look and give it to Julia. She slides the diary across the table to Max.

“Put that back with my mother’s things, Max. Yes, I know all about her message. I watched it the day after she died. I didn’t delete it, and I didn’t interfere with you giving it to Kate because, like you, I loved her enough to honor her final wishes. I’m not pleased that you lied to me, although I guess that was part of her final wishes, too, so . . .” She shrugs. “And speaking of lies, how was London, Kate?”

I’m not surprised that she knows, but I feel my face flushing at being called out in front of everyone.

“It was okay. My mom knows everything now. And while I couldn’t convince her to return with me, she’s important to Prudence. She might be able to influence her. That means we have someone on the inside—”

“On the inside with a woman who’ll have little to no impact on the events that are about to transpire.” Julia shakes her head. “Prudence is irrelevant, Kate, except for her role in motivating rank-and-file members to action. She is the kinder, gentler face Cyrus shows to the masses. We have that face—or at least a close approximation—as long as we have you.”

Julia settles into the chair at the head of the table. “And now we also have an approximate date. I suspected, based on my sources, that the Culling would occur on a date significant to Saul, but he seems to have eschewed sentimentality in favor of speeding things up.”

“You just
had
to go to London, didn’t you?” Max says. “I’ll bet anything something you did tipped them off and—”

“Enough, Max,” Julia interrupts. “While it’s possible that Kate’s actions tipped someone off, it’s also possible these events would have been triggered if she’d followed my directions and stayed put. While the date is sooner than I’d hoped, it’s still better than not knowing at all. Not knowing meant the Culling could start at any time, that they could be spreading the virus this very moment.”

“But couldn’t that still be true?” I ask. “We don’t know for certain how long it would take to spread—”

Charlayne nods. “I thought about that, too. Today is September 11th. It seems like the kind of anniversary someone might target.”

Tilson shakes his head. “The computer model suggests otherwise. I’d be happier if we had the models the CDC uses, but Julia says that’s not possible, at least not yet, and we can’t afford to wait.”

“And this model is from the center at Penn State,” Ben says, “which has an excellent reputation in the field. Based on the model, within twenty-four hours of release in any urban area, about eighty percent of that population would be infected. Within forty-eight hours, it would be close to total. If people are still moving around in DC on the 17th—and they’d have to be in order to print a newspaper—then we’ve got at least three days.” He stops and glances over at Dr. Tilson. “Except we’re dealing with time travelers who could always go back and change things. The models can’t account for that.”

Julia pulls several newspapers out of her backpack. “Max retrieved these prior to the meeting. They don’t factor in time travel, but they could help fine-tune the model. The first report of the illness comes from Europe, late in the evening of the 15th, so it isn’t reported until the next day.”

She hands the papers to Tilson, who glances at the dates and then passes them down to Bensen.

“But we’re going to stop the attack before it occurs. We have a plan, and we have people capable of carrying it out, so I don’t want to spend too much time harping on what might happen if we fail. Kate, I take it you’ve studied the files I gave you?”

“Yes,” I say cautiously. “But I need more time to go over the information in the file on 2305.”

“I’m sure. It’s a large file, and I know you’ve been busy with travel.” Julia’s voice is saccharine sweet, and she flashes me a tiny smile that doesn’t go anywhere near her eyes.

“It may take a while to go through everything,” I say with a look I hope conveys that I don’t suffer smart-asses gladly. “Fortunately I can jump back a few days so we’re not inconvenienced. In fact, if it’s vital to our current discussion, I can do that right now.”

“There’s no rush. As long as you do it soon.” Julia spreads her hands out and says, “This is your cell, the portion of the Fifth Column you’ll be working with directly. Feel free to consult the other people you mentioned, but they won’t be part of our meetings. I’m not sure how you’d arrange it anyway. Your house is bugged, and your movements are being monitored. Since Katherine rarely travels outside, any change in that regard would be noted.”

“We’re aware of that. Maybe we could move on to discussing this plan?”

Over the next half hour, they spell out the details. Boiling it down to bare essentials, they expect me to jump into the static-filled, unstable stable point that’s all that remains of CHRONOS headquarters, locate the keys, and bring them back so we can destroy them.

Max seems to think he’s going, too. And while he’s not my ideal traveling companion, this isn’t a jump I want to do alone. His coming along appears to be a point of contention, however, based on the look Julia gives him each time he mentions it.

Julia’s “plan” has me worried from the beginning, but I have to admit that they’re fairly well prepared, thanks to the records her parents left behind. I have a hard time getting a clear answer out of Katherine about anything to do with CHRONOS. For one thing, she’d really like to forget what happened and her role in it—the fact that she didn’t report Saul’s suspicious actions earlier gnaws at her conscience. But Katherine was also stranded for fifteen years before she realized that her past life might be relevant to her future. And even then, we’ve only very recently realized that things like the layout of the headquarters building, not to mention twenty-fourth-century history and culture, might be important for me to learn.

Delia and Abel, however, heard Kiernan’s theory that Saul’s people are using the keys that were left behind in the future when we were in Martha’s living room back in 1938. They started building a file on CHRONOS and the year 2305 while everything was fresh in their minds.

Ben is talking us through a map of the headquarters building, which is projected on the wall behind him. The first screen is a rough sketch of the exterior, with each story numbered—nine in all. The top five floors are labeled
Living Quarters
, and the bottom four are labeled
HQ
. Two additional floors below ground level appear to be maintenance and a network of tunnels.

“Based on Julia’s parents’ memories of the force of the explosion,” Ben says, “the floors directly above and below the jump room were probably destroyed. It’s quite possible the entire building is gone.”

He clicks to advance, and I see a map of the fourth floor, with a “jump room” in the center, taking up maybe a third of the floor. A circular launch pad and twelve smaller circles are arranged around the perimeter.

“Wait a minute,” I say. “The jump room is on the fourth floor? So the stable point is, what—a hundred feet from ground level? Assuming ground level is even there and it doesn’t drop another forty feet or so below ground. Do you think Prudence jumped into something like that and
survived
?”

There’s a short silence, and then Ben says, “We have to assume that she did, based on the evidence we have. It’s possible that she just got . . . lucky.”

I stare at him and then at Julia.

“It’s also possible,” Tilson adds, “that she was injured, possibly even seriously, but received medical care.”

“And what do you think my chances are of completing this mission if I’m injured-possibly-even-seriously?”

Julia shakes her head. “That won’t happen. You’ll be airborne. You’ll have about twenty seconds of lift, giving you time to lower yourself to the ground safely.”

“
Airborne?
What the . . .”

Tilson and Bensen exchange an uneasy glance.

Max also looks a bit hesitant, but Julia is staring at him, so he nods. “It’s a rocket belt.”

I scan the faces at the table, not at all encouraged by what I’m seeing. Charlayne is the only one who seems enthusiastic, but this doesn’t surprise me. We once went to a carnival together where they had this ride called Zero-G, shaped like a giant, hollow doughnut where everyone lines up against the cushions along the edges. Daredevil Charlayne whooped and wriggled her bottom upward so that her legs dangled several feet above where the floor should have been. Not me. I had to close my eyes to block out the whirling lights and fragmented images. Even with my eyes closed, the corn dog and funnel cake I’d eaten were threatening to jump ship by the time the ride ended.

“You’re kidding,” I say. Because I’m really kind of hoping they
are
kidding.

“No,” Charlayne says. “It’s awesome. This guy down in Mexico makes them. Max looked like Buzz Lightyear when he tested it. Well, minus the wings, but still . . .”

Bensen’s mouth tightens a bit, but I’m not sure if it’s because Charlayne mentioned Max or because he doubts the merits of the solution. “They’re jet packs, really. A little hard to manage at first. Charlayne’s gone up three times now.” He shoots her a look. “She landed really hard the first time, although she seems to have forgotten that. So did Max. We’ll need to work with you a bit out at Tilson’s place.”

“Have you tried using it at the same time as a key, Max? In the middle of a time jump?”

“No,” he admits. “Not yet. We thought there’d be more time to iron out the wrinkles.”

“We’re working on a way to free up your hands for the key,” Tilson says. “You currently need both hands to operate the jet pack.”

“But those are just technicalities, right?” Julia asks, looking around at the others. “You told me you had people working on it.”

“And I do,” Tilson says, a bit defensively. “But as Max noted, the schedule was accelerated. More to the point, your insistence that we keep the time travel component secret, not to mention the entire Culling thing, doesn’t make it easy. I can find scientists who oppose the Cyrists, but it’s hard to explain why tweaking a jet pack is a critical element in fighting them.”