Time Trapped (11 page)

September 3, 1311, 11:14
A.M.

Yunnan province, China
Operation High Tea

W
e land in the forest. The good news is that the tree has arrived with us. The bad news is that it's having trouble staying upright. And the really bad news is that I seem to have landed in its path.

“Timber!” yells Razor.

I roll away just as the ground around me shudders.

There's a thundering sound, followed by the squawking of a hundred angry birds.

Then the forest is quiet. Serene even.

And amazingly, I'm still alive.

I stand up slowly. Then move my arms and my legs. Everything's working.

“Nice scramble, Jack,” says Razor. “That was a bet I didn't mind losing.”

A moment later, it registers.

“You mean you bet on me dying?”

She looks at me with wide eyes. “What do you take me for? I'd never do that. I only bet how far away you'd be when the big guy fell. Dim said three feet, but I didn't know how quick you really are, so I said two.”

I'm totally drained. I've got to get away from Razor and Dmitri. But first I need to get them back to the Compound.

I reach out my hands to them. Razor grabs one hand, but Dmitri waves me off.

“I can navigate fairly well on my own, thank you,” he says.

I sigh. I have no energy to fight with him. But if he doesn't turn up at the Compound, I'll be the one who takes the blame.

“Please, Dmitri. I know you don't need my help. But humor me, will you?”

Razor has let go of my wrist and is standing slightly behind and to the left of Dmitri. She's whispering something in his ear.

“I will go with you if I can retain both time bands,” says Dmitri.

I have absolutely no authority to bargain with him. The wristbands are Timeless Treasures property, which means they belong to Uncle. And something tells me he wouldn't take kindly to one of his recruits stockpiling them.

On the other hand, I've got to cut some kind of deal with Dmitri—or risk him making a scene when we arrive back. And that's just about the last thing I want.

“I might be able to arrange it, but it's going to take a little time,” I say.

Dmitri smiles and extends his wrist. Before he changes his mind, I grab it and then press my own.

Right before we leap, I take a deep breath and look up at the sky. Thunderclouds are moving in. I hope it's not an omen about how the rest of my day is going to go.

October 5, 2061, 8:46
A.M.

Timeless Treasures Headquarters
Tribeca, New Beijing (formerly New York City)

G
et up, Cale. He wants to see you right after you turn in the snatch object.” Abbie is standing over me in the alley next to Headquarters with a serious expression on her face.

“I can't move. Still time frozen,” I say. “In fact, please send my regrets. It's a bad case of time freeze. I don't see it clearing anytime soon.”

“This isn't a joke,” she says. “Frank doesn't like it when he has to wait.”

Did she say Frank? I begin to breathe a sigh of relief until it hits me that Frank could be worse than Uncle.

“All right. Where does he want us to meet him?”

“Not us. You. In his office,” she says. “Right after you hand in the tea leaves to Luca. I can take Razor and Dmitri back with me to the Compound.”

I nod and stand up slowly. “Any idea what it's about?”

“No,” Abbie says.

I cross over to where Razor and Dmitri sit slouched against the brick wall. I hold out my hand and Dmitri gives me the pouch with the leaves.

“See you at lunch,” I say and begin climbing the fire escape stairs.

Luca is sitting behind his desk, eyes fixed on his screen. When I rap on the open door to get his attention, it feels like something is missing. And then I realize what it is. Nassim's surprise attacks. I never thought I'd miss being strangled, but there it is.

The screen above him flashes on, and there's Phoebe's yoga instructor persona dressed in a black leotard, her body folded backward at an impossible angle. It hurts me just to look at her.

“Here they are,” I say, handing over the pouch.

He takes it, looks inside and waves me away. Wow, that was easy. I turn to go.

“Not so fast,” says the voice from the screen.

Darn.

“You've got to make sure they are the real thing, Lucas,” says Phoebe.

Luca glares at the screen, which tells me he doesn't appreciate Phoebe bossing him around, let alone getting his name wrong. Then he dips two fingers into the pouch and withdraws a single leaf. He's about to touch it with the tip of his tongue when Phoebe squawks.

“Don't you dare! What if he's trying to poison you? Make him try it first.”

I sigh. I always wondered what Phoebe does in her spare time, and now I know. She watches bad murder mysteries.

I grab the leaf from Luca and lick it. It tastes bitter. I try not to make a face.

“See? Still alive,” I say.

Phoebe frowns, but only for a moment. Then her yoga instructor face morphs into a sea of tranquility. “Get him to spill 'em all out,” she tells Luca.

Luca shrugs and I pour the contents of the bag onto his desk. Phoebe makes as if she's studying them and then finishes off by scratching her head with her big toe. “They're all wrinkled,” she says finally.

“They're supposed to be wrinkled,” I say. I try to keep my voice from rising, but it's impossible. Phoebe is being difficult.

“Tell him to go back and get fresh ones,” she instructs Luca, finally unfolding and assuming the Cherokee warrior pose.

“That's ridicu— I can't go back,” I say. “Frank wants to see me right away.”

Luca looks undecided. Well, I'll decide for him. I get up to go.

“I'll have to tell Uncle about the wrinkles,” he says.

“Fine,” I say over my shoulder. I half expect him to jump up and block me from leaving, but he doesn't.

“Tuck your shirt in,” yells Phoebe, mistress of the last word.

I walk down the hall to Frank's office. The door is open, and Frank is seated behind a large desk with a glass tabletop, gazing at his screen. The walls are bare except for a photograph of Frank presenting the first flag of the Great Friendship to a smiling Uncle. It irks me every time I see that, because Frank poached my snatch to get that flag.

I stand at the entrance, waiting for him to notice me. After what seems like forever, he looks up and says, “The morning news. Have you seen it?”

“No,” I say. “I never read the news. Too depressing.”

“You may want to have a look.”

He turns his screen and I see an image of the giant tree, framed by the large Toshiba sign. The caption under the image reads “Church Group, Bowling Alley Operator and Mothers Against Logging all claim responsibility for the Miracle at Times Square.”

I'm rooting for the bowling alley operator. It's tough to keep a small business going these days.

“Interesting,” I say. “What does this have to do with me?”

“Don't play coy, Caleb. I know that one of your recruits did this.”

“Are you serious? No one can move something that size.”

Frank circles the desk and comes up behind me, which is really annoying. The back of my neck prickles, but I resist the urge to whip my head around.

“You've caught a break this time,” he says. “Normally, this kind of attention would make Uncle very angry.”

Did he say “normally”? A small ray of light pierces the gloom of my thoughts.

“But you're lucky. He's not angry at all. In fact, he didn't mention any punishment for you. What intrigued him was how the tree got there.”

My mind is racing. There's good and bad in what Frank's saying. The good part, of course, is that I get to keep my remaining toes for at least another day. The downside is that Uncle probably wants the intel on how the tree was moved.

“He wants to speak to the recruit who did it,” Frank says, confirming my fears.

My stomach clenches. If I say no, that will be seen as directly challenging Frank. But if I say yes, who knows what will happen to Dmitri once Uncle gets his mitts on him.

“I don't know who did it,” I lie.

“How could you not know?” Frank asks. “You were there, weren't you?”

“Yes and no. I was in the forest, but I was chasing down a recruit who had wandered away from the snatch zone. When I returned, the tree was already gone.”

At least that part is true.

“I see,” says Frank. “Which recruit had wandered away?”

I was afraid he would ask that.

“I forget,” I lie.

Frank smiles and says, “Play it that way if you want to. But I'll find out anyway.”

He looks down at his handheld. “Judith, Gerhard, Razor and Dmitri . . . I will meet with them one by one. Oh, and tell Abbie I'd like to see her also.”

“I can't,” I say. “I mean they can't. At least not right now. They're busy. Abbie's briefing them on the next mission.”

I've got to buy some time so I can prepare Dmitri.

Frank studies me for a moment. I can tell he's weighing the pros and cons of delaying the meetings.

Ten seconds of awkward silence follow. A single droplet of sweat forms on my forehead and threatens to make a break for it down my cheek, but I resist the urge to wipe it away.

I'm counting on him not wanting to make Uncle angry, which could be the result if we weren't on schedule for our afternoon snatch.

“All right, Caleb. I won't insist on seeing them right now,” he says finally. “But as soon as your team's next snatch is completed, send all of your recruits to my office.”

“Sure,” I say.

“And to put your mind at ease, you don't need to worry about the recruit responsible for moving the tree being punished. In fact, he or she will be rewarded. You see, Uncle has a great interest in what could be a new technology.”

As he says this, he brushes the hair away from his right ear. Or what's left of it after Uncle lopped off the top part of it last summer as punishment for turning in a replica of the Xuande vase.

There's something about this meeting that bothers me. Frank just doesn't seem that interested, period. It's almost as if the entire screw-up with the tree is a minor annoyance to him and no more than that. The old Frank would have been all over me for it.

But this Frank is eerily calm. There's only one possible explanation. It's what Abbie told me at the castle—he must be planning something big. But what could that be?

“Are we done?” I say, looking him square in the eyes.

“Yes, of course. Go ahead and join your little group.”

I wait until I'm out of view before running the back of my hand across my forehead to wipe away another bead of sweat.

October 5, 2061, 10:46
A.M.

The Compound
SoHo, New Beijing (formerly New York City)

H
ow did it go?” Abbie asks. We're standing across the street from the Compound, which is as close as you can get without having your mindpatch monitored.

“As well as I could expect.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, Frank knows that one of the recruits moved the tree,” I say. “But he doesn't know who it was . . . yet. He wants to see all of them individually. And he wants to speak to you too.”

“Right now?”

“I managed to stall him until we get back from our next snatch. By the way, what is our next snatch?”

“Didn't you scan the mission schedule?” she says. “This afternoon, we're off to 1886 Atlanta, Georgia, to snatch the first-ever glass of Coca-Cola. I'm calling it Operation Fizz.”

“That sounds okay,” I say. In fact, if it was just Abbie and me doing the snatch two years ago, I might have said “that sounds fun,” but lately I've learned to keep my expectations low.

“I'll prep Judith and Gerhard about the meeting with Frank,” Abbie says. “You do Razor and Dmitri.”

“What's our story?”

Abbie scrunches her eyebrows. “That it was a freak accident. A one-in-a-million shot. Some kind of malfunction with Dmitri's wristband. That he did it but doesn't know how. Besides, Frank can ask the others all he wants. I'm positive they didn't see him do it.”

“But if it was a freak accident,” I say, “how could it happen twice? You know, the tree returning to the past after its little trip to Times Square.”

“I don't know,” Abbie says. “Maybe it was part of the same freak accident.”

“I don't think Frank will believe that,” I say.

She runs her fingers through her hair. “You're right. But it might buy us some more time to figure something else out.”

“All right,” I say. “I'll talk to Dmitri and Razor. Right after my meeting with Uncle.”

“Uncle wants to meet with you?” she asks.

“Yeah, with me and Frank. Eleven o'clock at the castle.”

“What about?”

“He didn't get into details,” I say, “but it has to do with his idea about fixing history.”

“Okay, good luck.”

“Thanks,” I say grimly and begin to enter the sequence for the castle.

“Wait,” she says, putting a hand on my arm. Then she leans in and kisses me.

“Th . . . thanks,” I say. “What was that for?”

“For more good luck.”

There are no bad seats in the tower room at Doune Castle. In all directions, there's a commanding view of the rolling countryside.

After ten minutes, Luca pokes his head into the room and says, “Uncle said to tell you he's running a little late. He will be here momentarily.”

I nod. I don't like waiting. It gives my brain time to think of unpleasant things. I take some deep breaths to calm myself. About a minute later, the patch of air two feet away begins to shimmer.

Even before he goes solid, I can tell from the swirl of colors that it's Uncle. Frank is never that bold a dresser. Uncle slowly materializes in a tartan kilt in the colors of the Clan of Bruce, a Prince Charlie jacket and a wing-collar shirt with bow tie. He's not carrying a sword or an ax or any other weapon, as far as I can see. But then again, a person could store all sorts of knives and daggers under that kilt.

Still, I can feel my hopes creeping up ever so slightly.

When he emerges from his time freeze, Uncle tips his head toward me in greeting and takes his seat at the head of the table.

We sit there silently, waiting for Frank to appear. About thirty seconds later, there's a shimmering in the air halfway between us. As Frank's form materializes, I can't wait to hear his explanation as to why he's late.

It looks like he's been out shopping. He's wearing a silver and black skin suit and has on black leather boots that look buttery soft. There's a gold chain around his neck and he's also sporting a flashy pinkie ring. I've never seen Frank dress this sharp before. Where is he getting the money for his new wardrobe?

“Sorry I'm late,” he says once he's thawed. “I had a disciplinary matter to deal with.”

That's it? A disciplinary matter? I don't buy it. I think what he's really doing is testing the boundaries with Uncle . . . seeing what he can get away with.

I brace myself for the inevitable barrage of abuse that Uncle is about to unleash on Frank.

But amazingly, it doesn't come. All Uncle does is smile and say, “Very well. Now that you are both here, we can begin. The reason I have called this meeting with you, my most senior and trusted time snatchers, is to discuss a matter that is near and dear to my heart.”

Did he just say he trusted me? Of course he said it in the same breath as saying he trusts Frank, which tells you something about Uncle's sense of judgment these days. Still, I haven't heard the word
punishment
yet.

“When I have spoken of this matter before, it was only an idea, a wisp of a thought. Of course, action does not occur in isolation; it always originates with an idea, a concept, a notion. Without the notion, the action is meaningless. The same can be said of an idea not tethered to execution—it is but a pie in the sky, a flight of fancy.”

I have no idea what he's talking about. But if there's a choice between execution and pie, I choose pie.

“
Mo charaidean—
my friends—the time is ripe to take Timeless Treasures in a new direction . . .”

I glance at Frank. Outwardly, he looks calm, but my guess is he's sweating big-time under that expensive skin suit.

“And that direction is the pursuit of what I call ‘historical correctness,'” Uncle continues. “History is fraught with events that have tainted its true and correct course. There are many examples of historical events that, had they not occurred, the world would be a much better place. And I am not talking only of wars and plagues that have decimated humanity, although those too are worthy of reexamination and in certain cases, correction.”

Reexamination? Correction? I think Uncle's finally jumped off the deep end. Stealing small stuff from the past and bringing it back to 2061 is one thing. But deliberately going back in time to try to alter, or as he calls it, to “correct,” history is a whole other can of beans.

“Starting tomorrow, there will be a new division in Timeless Treasures called the Historical Correction Division. Caleb, I would like you to head up this new division. Together, we will right the wrongs of history!”

Did he just say Caleb? Is he sure he didn't mean to say Frank and my name slipped off his tongue by mistake? No, he's looking straight at me, so he must mean me.

“I . . . certainly, Uncle,” I stammer. Here I was expecting punishment, and he offers me a promotion.

“I see that you are surprised,” he says.

“A little,” I admit. “I mean, when I left, things were a bit tense between us.”

The understatement of the year.

“Here is how I see it,” he says. “You are the first one I brought on board. My first orphan, my first trainee and my first time snatcher. That is why I brought you back from 1968.”

Frank has been awfully quiet so far. His face is expressionless. What I wouldn't give right now to know what he's really thinking.

“But that is not why I am giving you this opportunity,” Uncle continues. “The reason I have selected you to lead the Historical Correction Division, Caleb, is because you are most like me. We both share strong convictions. We both have a keen sense of what is right and what is wrong. We are both guided by a strong moral compass.

“Inadvertently changing history is one thing,” says Uncle. “But molding it, shaping it and correcting its many flaws is another thing altogether. It requires a deft touch, an artistic flair and, above all, an unshakeable determination to do what is right. Of all my time snatchers, there is only one who possesses all of these qualities . . . and that is you, Caleb.”

He shifts to look at Frank, and I let out a long, slow breath.

“I am sure you are wondering, Frank, what this new direction will mean for our mainstream operations that you have been so capably running from New Beijing. The answer is that there will be no effect whatsoever. The growth of the time snatching side of the business will still be a priority for many years to come. Rest assured that the changes begun last year with Project Metamorphosis will continue.

“In fact, the core time snatching operation will be more important than ever. The righting of historical wrongs could be an expensive proposition. We will need the revenue from our mainstream operations to fund the activities of the new division.”

I can't imagine that Frank is happy about any of this. Especially the part about his division bankrolling mine.

“That all sounds excellent,” says Frank. Then he turns to me. “I look forward to working with you, Caleb, in your new role.”

Frank's face breaks into a smile. Uncle smiles at him, then both of them smile at me, and I smile back. All of this fake smiling is making me nauseous. I still have no idea what he means by historical correctness. If it's about going back in time to stop the Braves from beating the Yankees in game seven of the 2058 World Series, then I'm all for it, but something tells me that's not what he has in mind.

“Before you both go, I'd like to tell you a story. A true story of Robert the Bruce.”

Okay, here we go. I knew he couldn't get through a whole meeting without mentioning his new hero's name.

“It was a dark period in Robert the Bruce's life; a time when he was experiencing defeat after crushing defeat at the hands of the English. Feeling desolate, he was close to giving up his lifelong dream of freedom for the Scottish people. One cold and stormy night, as he lay alone in a cave, hiding from the English, he looked up and saw a spider. The spider was trying to weave a web from one part of the ceiling to another. Six times the spider tried to sling its web from one part of the ceiling to the next, and six times it failed. But on the seventh try, a thin tendril of web clung and held. The spider had persevered and won. At that moment, inspired by the never-say-die spirit of the spider, Robert the Bruce decided that he would never give up fighting for the things he believed in.

“And so it must be with us. We must stride forward with renewed hope and confidence. We must be like Robert the Bruce's spider: tenacious and determined to accomplish all that we set out to do.”

Uncle's eyes are shining. The last time I saw him this excited was when he announced Project Metamorphosis. Still, this whole thing is giving me a stomachache, and I can't wait to get out of here.

Uncle gets up first and then Frank and I stand.

“
Chi mi a-rithist thu,
” says Uncle, dismissing us. “And remember, I'm counting on you two for great things.”

“Yes, Uncle,” we both say at once. No sooner are the words out of his mouth than Frank vanishes.

I'm about to tap away at my own wrist when Uncle signals me to wait.

Rats.

He smiles and points at something on the floor. I look but all I can see is a small, dark speck. The next moment, the speck begins to move. It's a spider.

The spider is gaining speed now, skittering across the tower room floor.

Uncle takes two quick steps toward it and crouches down. His hand lashes out quick as a viper and snatches the spider. Then he walks back to me and opens his hand. The spider hops off his fingers onto the floor and again tries to skitter away.

This time, Uncle raises his leg and stomps down hard, crushing it. Then he removes his boot, examines the underside and shows it to me.

“As with people, Caleb, no two spiders are exactly alike. That little fellow did not appear to like it here. He tried to run away. The first time I brought him back and gave him a chance. But as you saw, he squandered it and tried to escape again. I'm afraid twice is unforgivable.”

I shudder. “Can I go now, Uncle?”

“Yes, of course,” he says, smiling.

My fingers reach for my wrist, but they're trembling so badly that I have trouble keying in the sequence. I'm feeling many things right now, and not all of them are fear of Uncle, although there's that too. When he said that stuff about me being his first time snatcher and how I want to do what's right, I felt a warm tingle and had a flash of an earlier time—when I was a small boy on his lap, telling him about my day, feeling safe and secure.

But that was a long time ago. I'm not that little boy anymore, and Uncle certainly isn't the same either.

Finally, I succeed in keying in the sequence and am relieved to feel the familiar sensation of the timeleap taking hold.

The last image I have before I leave the castle is of the tiny spider ground into the heel of Uncle's boot.