Time's Divide (The Chronos Files Book 3) (48 page)

O
UTSIDE THE
S
IXTEENTH
S
TREET
T
EMPLE

W
ASHINGTON
, DC

September 12, 9:34 p.m.

Ben is again in the driver’s seat of the van. I don’t see the Subaru, so Dad must be the one over on Seventeenth, getting ready to set off the diversion.

I push my way out of the bushes, and as I round the front of the vehicle, Mom grabs me into a hug. “Thank God, Kate!”

I give her a quick return hug—much quicker than I want—and then pull her into the van. Charlayne is in the back with Katherine, and she’s now the one with Trey’s phone. “Charlayne, no. Don’t call my dad!”

Charlayne stops dialing, and everyone gives me a questioning look. “I was just going to tell him you’re out. We may not need—”

“This is two minutes earlier for me. Simon will have a double memory if anything changes, so Dad still needs to set off the diversion and I need to jump back in. The vials are on a shelf in the library. I saw them, but couldn’t grab them before Conwell and Simon arrived.”

“So jump back earlier,” Ben says. “Grab them before you let Trey and Charlayne—”

“That may not work,” Katherine says as I reach forward to squeeze her hand. She looks drained, and I can tell her head is hurting. “Or at least it won’t work if Kate goes back alone. If Simon doesn’t see the vials, he’ll know something changed. Maybe you could set a trap?”

“Maybe. But I’ll need Kiernan for backup. Where’s everyone else?”

Mom pushes into the van. “Your dad and the other . . . you . . . left to set off the diversion. Trey, Kiernan, and Connor haven’t come out yet. I don’t know if they’re trying to get to you or—”

No, no, no, no, no.
I bite my upper lip hard, pushing down the panic so I can focus on what needs to be done now, right this second.

“Ben, once I’m gone, get out of here. An alarm goes off as soon as they hear the noise from the jet packs. We’ll rendezvous at the cottage.”

“I’m coming in with you,” Charlayne says.

“No. I’d appreciate the company, but I can use the key. You can’t.”

“Do you want a rifle?” She starts to hand me hers.

“I’ll stick with the Colt. Once you’re down the road, wait about thirty seconds and call Dad to update him, okay?”

Katherine and Mom are both trying to talk to me, and I hear Prudence’s name, but I can’t wait. “Please,” I say to Charlayne. “Just get them out of here. Keep them safe.”

I
NSIDE THE
S
IXTEENTH
S
TREET
T
EMPLE

W
ASHINGTON
, DC

September 12, 9:34 p.m.

Something is being dragged. The sound is moving closer, so I shove my key back into the holder, then down into my shirt, and crouch in the dark corner. I pull the Colt from my pocket and hold my breath, waiting.

Simon crosses in front of the door, hunched forward, dragging Conwell by the feet. There’s a thump, and then he returns to the desk.

A few seconds later I hear Simon saying, “Sister Patterson! So good to see you!”

“Where is Conwell?” Her voice is familiar. And yes, I may have heard her on television, but she was only vice president in my timeline. I don’t think I’d remember her voice. And the memory feels more recent.

“Conwell is otherwise occupied. I’m the one you need to be talking to anyway.”

A very long pause, and then she says, “My understanding was—”

“Conwell worked for me. Not your Fifth Column. He was feeding us information all along. If you want to minimize the damage to the country, Madame President, I’m the only one who can help you. See that silver tray on the shelf behind me? The contents will determine whether you come out of this next week on an equal playing field with other nations, or whether you come out as the leader not just of the
free
world but of the whole damned globe. Would you like me to explain?”

“Please do.” Patterson’s voice is calm, measured, and I’ve placed it now. She was the woman teleconferenced in at the meeting with the Fifth Column. The one Tilson said Julia answered to.

Simon launches into a full-blown speech, one I suspect he’s practiced in his head for a very long time. And this speech, while Simon’s all wrapped up in the wonderful sound of his own words, may be my best chance to get those vials.

“At exactly eight forty-five on the morning of September 11th, Sister Prudence and Conwell distributed a virus to five regional temples. The vials will be introduced into the water supply on each continent. It’s fast moving and lethal, and it mutates quickly. It will be airborne within about a day. I watched it happen in 2070, and it is a masterpiece of efficiency.”

I move slowly until I reach the doorway and then slip across the opening to the opposite side. I can see Simon’s reflection in the glass walls, staring at the monitor in front of him, giving his sales pitch. The vials are on a midlevel shelf, one row over. If I have two clear seconds, it’s an easy grab.

Unfortunately, the fact that I can see Simon’s reflection means that he’ll also be able to see me if he glances this way. Possibly even in the reflection of the monitor. I’d gladly trade the CHRONOS key for a cloak of invisibility right now if that were an option. Because even if Simon doesn’t look back, as soon as I pivot around those shelves, the webcam will probably pick me up. Will Patterson react? Will she tell him?

“The good news is that it doesn’t have to be that way here,” he says. “You have time to lock down the borders. I have the vaccine. If you’re feeling magnanimous, you could even share it . . . maybe save a few allies.”

I cautiously step over Conwell’s feet and press my back against the bookshelves, watching Simon’s reflection. There’s never going to be a perfect time, so I wait until he’s in midsentence and step out holding the Colt in front of me.

Shoot him. Just shoot him.

It shouldn’t be a problem after everything he’s done. I shouldn’t even hesitate. But I can’t. Patterson is watching. Still, even if she wasn’t, even if the president of United States wouldn’t be a witness to the act, I don’t think I could shoot someone in the back.

And Patterson
does
see me. I’m banking absolutely everything on the note of shock, of disgust, that I heard in her voice at the Fifth Column meeting when she learned how deep the conspiracy went. If her compassion was an act, I am so far beyond screwed.

I take two steps and carefully pull the tray toward me, holding my breath, trying not to make even the tiniest sound. It slides silently off the shelf, not even a whisper, but it doesn’t matter.

Maybe Simon caught movement in his peripheral vision or saw Patterson looking beyond him. Or maybe it was just that odd sixth sense that tells you someone is behind you. Whatever the reason, his chair starts to spin in my direction.

“So let me get this straight,” Patterson says, in a much louder voice. “You’re saying we could come out of this ahead? That the Culling doesn’t happen here?”

Simon halts, turning back to the screen. I reverse course, hoping to duck back around the shelves.

But I don’t make it. The room begins to spin, and it’s all I can do to keep the tray upright as I drop to the floor a few feet from Conwell’s body.

Grabbing those vials must be what finally triggers the time shift. It’s as massive as the last one, and Connor’s analogy of a train being shoved from the tracks seems dead on.

Simon lets out a roar and swipes the monitor off the desk. It crashes to the floor. He stands and staggers in my direction, but he only makes it a few steps before he drops to his knees.

There’s no time to grab my CHRONOS key. I point the Colt at Simon, and he points his weapon right back at me.

It’s a strange gun, nothing like the Colt or the rifle I carried earlier. Neither of us says anything. He’s probably struggling to keep down his last meal, just like I am. Conwell’s cologne—an acrid scent that burns my nose—isn’t making things any easier.

My head begins to clear. I push myself up to a half-lotus position, gripping the tray of vials between my thighs, and move my hand slowly toward my key.

That’s when Simon finds his voice. “I’ll shoot before I let you jump out with the vials.”

“And I’ll shoot before I’ll let you have them.”

You should have shot him, Kate. Right square in the back. He’d be dead, dead, dead, and you’d be out of here.

That thought must be written on my face because Simon laughs. “You have to be willing to fight dirty to win. And if you were willing to fight dirty, I’d be dead already. And yes, I
do
see you back there.” Simon is glancing beyond me at the glass doors. “Connor Dunne, isn’t it? Pretty sure I know your great-grandpa.”

I can’t see Connor from this angle without turning around, and I don’t dare take my eyes off Simon. He has the clear advantage, because he can see both me and Connor’s reflection at the same time.

“Whoever’s back there behind you in the hallway? If I see any movement at all, I
will
shoot her. And just so you’re aware, mine isn’t the only weapon aimed in her direction.”

“He’s lying!”

“No, he’s not.” The voice behind me is weak, but unmistakably Patrick Conwell. He snakes one arm around my waist and jabs something against my back, hard enough that I wince. “Although I haven’t quite decided who I’d rather kill,” he adds in a softer voice clearly meant for Simon.

Connor says, “I’m not armed, Simon. Just here to make a trade.”

“Really?” Simon says brightly. “Whatcha got?”

“Kate for the keys. They’re all here.”

“Bullshit.” Simon keeps the tone friendly as he adds, “We both know there are others out there, including the one in your pocket.”

Connor moves a bit farther into the room, and I can now see him over Simon’s shoulder. He holds the red-and-white container in one hand. Pulling the key out of his pocket, he shows it to Simon. “Not a problem. You’ll get those, too. In fact, I’ll toss mine into the pot the second I know she’s safe.”

“No, Connor!”

“Kate,” Simon chides. “Stay out of this, darlin’. The men are doing business.”

His grin fades a bit when he sees my expression. Or maybe it’s my twitchy trigger finger that does it, because part of me wants to pull the trigger right this second, regardless of the consequences.

“Conwell, the whole idea of holding her at gunpoint is to make her
lower
the damned weapon.” Conwell digs his barrel in a little deeper, and once I comply, Simon goes on. “Before we do any sort of negotiation, however, Kate needs to slide that tray in her lap toward me.”

“No,” Conwell says. “I think I’ll keep it closer to me until we talk to Brother Cyrus.”

Playing these two off each other seems like our only hope at this point. “He’s dead,” I say. “Simon killed him. Slit his throat and dumped him in a bathtub at Estero.”

“True enough,” Simon admits. “He wouldn’t listen to reason. Saul’s way and only Saul’s way. You’ve seen that, Patrick. I seem to remember him making you give up something—someone—once upon a time, just to show your loyalty.”

Conwell is already on a pretty tight spring, but I feel him tense up even more.

Simon gives Conwell a sympathetic smile. “But you and me, man, we’re on the same side now. We both need those vials because I’m pretty sure that jolt we felt just now means Dora the Explorer there erased everything you accomplished on your recent trips abroad.”

“What jolt? The only jolt I felt was from your PEP gun.”

Then I see a flash of blue a few inches from Connor. I let out the breath I’ve been holding . . . and then I tense right back up. It’s Prudence.

She hates Simon, but she’s about as reliable as a tissue paper bridge. I can’t imagine any scenario where her being in this room improves the situation. She’s not even armed. Connor’s expression tells me he’s thinking the exact same thing.

Prudence glances from Connor to Simon, then over to where I’m wedged up against Conwell, then back across the room. And then she bursts out laughing, holding one hand up to her face. “Oh my God! Lover boy’s over there in the doorway, too. He looks like a Ken doll playing GI Joe.”