Time Trapped (24 page)

January 1, 1800, 6:15
A.M.

New York City

H
ow are you feeling?” I ask Dmitri.

He's sitting on the bench right outside the control booth.

“Exceptionally well, except for my head.” He leans forward and parts his hair, and I can see a lump the size of a robin's egg.

“Wow, that's quite a bump,” I say.

“Cale?” Abbie calls from the control booth. Her voice sounds tense.

“Hold on. I'm coming.”

I enter the control booth and Dmitri follows me in.

“Something's not working,” Abbie says.

“What do you mean?” I say.

“Well, I've keyed in the destination that Phoebe's given me and checked my parameters twice, but . . .”

“But what?” I say.

“It keeps overriding my data and programming its own,” she says.

I clench my teeth. A memory of my wrist patch being reprogrammed against my will comes bubbling to the surface.

“Did you try cancelling the override?” Dmitri asks.

“That's what I've been trying to do, but it doesn't seem to be working,” Abbie says.

“Here, let me try,” he says.

Abbie steps to the side, and Dmitri takes her place at the controls.

A wave of panic begins to wash over me, and I barely manage to push it back down. I don't want to ask the next question, but I do anyway. “Where is the override programmed for?”

Dmitri looks down at the console and then up at me.

“New Beijing, October 9, 2061,” he says. “It appears that someone is attempting to bring us back.”

“That can't be,” I say. But even as I say it, I'm remembering a cold day that began in 1968 and ended on an operating table in 2061. No, I won't let it happen again. Not to the recruits.

“Dmitri, try to hold on,” I say.

“I do not think I can. Everything I try is being easily countered.”

“Phoebe, can you do something to stop it?”

No reaction.

“Phoebe?”

The overhead screen blinks on. Phoebe's persona, a middle-aged woman wearing a fluffy bathrobe with her hair in rollers, is sobbing into a handkerchief.

“I'm afraid this is all my fault,” she says, sniffling. “I'm not really allowed to leave 2061 without You Know Who's permission. There's an automatic recall hardwired into my system. Which means whatever system I hook myself up to—in this case the subway car—gets recalled too!”

“Well, can't you unhook yourself?” I say.

“I'm using her as a kind of GPS,” says Dmitri. “If we unhook her, we won't be able to pinpoint our landings for recruit drop-offs.”

“Dmitri, how long do you think before—”

“It is starting to go,” he says, furiously working the controls.

“Abort it! Take us anywhere else!”

“Anywhere?”

“I don't care where,” I shout. “DO IT NOW!”

“Affirmative,” he says. “Please instruct everyone to hold on tight. It is going to be a rough landing.”

Seconds later, there's a terrible ripping sound. We come down hard. I go flying across the floor, and my body slams into a row of seats.

The lights in the car go off.

Then it is deathly quiet.

“Abbie?”

“Right here,” she says, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“How about the recruits?” I ask.

“I'm checking,” she answers.

“Dmitri, what's happening?”

“The controls are still acting erratically,” he says.

“Everyone seems to be okay,” Abbie says.

“Listen up, everyone,” I say. “We have to leave the subway car. Right now.”

I look outside the window. It's pitch-black. I have no idea where or when we are. But at this moment, it doesn't matter.

“Doors please, Dmitri.”

The doors slide open. Abbie and I start leading the recruits off the car onto frozen ground.

When the last of the recruits steps off, I hop back on the car to make sure that no one has been left behind.

The light is still on in the control booth.

“Dmitri?”

“I believe I can countermand the return command,” he says. “I just need a little longer.”

“No. Don't,” I say. “Everyone's already off. You need to come right now.”

“I think I can beat my opponent,” says Dmitri. “Please leave the car, Caleb.”

“Dmitri! This isn't a game. You need to leave with me!”

I grab his arms and pull at them, but he has an iron grip on the controls and won't let go.

Then something feels different. The colors around me are fading to gray.

“Dmitri!” I yell.

Then Abbie's voice in my head: “Get out of there, Cale! Now!”

I dive for the door. The car lurches, and I slam my hip into the doorway. I stagger to my feet and, with a final effort, hurl myself from the car.

I land, winded, on the hard ground.

When I look back, I see the ghostly image of the subway car, fading from sight.

“Dmitri!”

I shout his name until my voice is hoarse. Then, when I can't shout anymore, I begin to cry.

November 27, 2043, 7:33
P.M.

Near Kozhanka, Ukraine

C
ome on.” Abbie helps me up. “We've got to figure out where and when we are.”

“Why?” I say. “We're not staying. Let's just join hands and get out of here.”

Abbie looks at me with a worried expression. “Our patches don't work here. Nothing registers!”

“That's impossible.” I tap my own wrist, but nothing happens.

All around us is night. I can make out trees in the distance, but nothing else. Except for snow. There is no shortage of that. And it's plenty cold. It could easily be the winter of 1660 or 2060.

“Okay,” I say. “We'll try the patches again later. Our first priority is shelter.”

We lead the recruits through the snow toward the trees. Everyone is shivering badly.

What a mess I've made of this rescue. Razor is gone, and now Dmitri too. The rest of us may be dead soon. This place could be anywhere in time. We could also be hundreds of miles from the nearest village or city.

The wind picks up and blows snow in our faces. I dig my cold hands deep into my pockets.

We trudge on.

After what seems like forever, we reach the first of the trees. It's just as cold, but at least there's some shelter from the wind.

Judith falls down in the snow.

“You have to get up,” Abbie tells her.

“I'm tired and my shoulder is aching,” she says.

“Hang in there, Judith,” says Abbie. “We can't stop here.”

I help Abbie pick her up, but we haven't gone more than twenty feet before someone else collapses.

I look over at Abbie. She's doing her best to keep everyone going. But she's only human too. And she must be feeling the same way I am right now: cold, exhausted and hungry.

Gazing down at the snow, I wonder what it would be like to sit down and rest for a minute. It would be wonderful, a voice inside me is saying. Everyone needs to recharge their batteries once in a while, and this looks like the perfect place to—

“Cale, look!” Abbie points ahead.

All I see are more trees and snow and a wisp of gray smoke.

Smoke!

We trudge a little more quickly. My feet aren't aching anymore, because my toes are frozen solid. And my teeth have stopped chattering too. But the rest of me is still alive enough to shiver from the bitter cold that knifes me with every step forward.

Could the smoke be a mirage like the one I saw in the Barrens?

But if it's a mirage, it's very detailed. Because now, through the trees, I glimpse the source of the smoke: a house. The smoke is coming from a chimney.

The wind kicks up the snow, sending it swirling. For a moment, I lose sight of the house and panic.

It was a mirage, my exhausted brain scolds me. But then the wind dies down and the house appears again. A log cabin with a stone chimney. There's a large chip in one of the stones near the base. Mirages don't have stones with chips in them, do they?

We drag ourselves to the front of the house. The narrow walkway looks freshly shoveled. A crazy thought enters my mind. The walk was shoveled because whoever lives inside that house knew we were coming. We were expected. Like I said, a crazy thought. But I can't shake it.

My feet thud on the landing. I glance quickly across at Abbie and then at the recruits huddled behind us.

I knock on the stout door.

There is the sound of a latch being pulled back. The door creaks open. A man stands there. He has a bushy white beard, and I'm guessing he's well over seventy years old. As soon as he sees us, his wrinkled face breaks into a smile, and he steps to the side of the doorway.

“Come in,” he says. “I have been waiting a long time for you.”

November 27, 2043, 8:43
P.M.

Near Kozhanka, Ukraine

T
he table has twenty-four mugs laid out on it. This is creepy. He knew exactly how many of us there were.

“He could have cameras outside this place,” I mindspeak to Abbie. “It's a trick.”

Still, another voice inside of me is saying this is no trick.

The recruits make a beeline for cushions arranged on the floor beside the fireplace. Abbie pours a glass of water for Judith and hands it to her along with a pain pill.

The man busies himself pouring steaming tea into the mugs and placing platters of sandwiches on the table.

But I can't sit down. There's something strange about all of this. The man is watching my reaction. He finishes setting the table, grabs his mug, and eases into a rocker.

“You do not recognize me yet, do you?” he says.

“Umm, no,” I say.

“How about you, Abbie?”

I jump when he says her name. She shakes her head. He smiles as though relishing the moment.

“I will give you a clue,” he says.

“All right.” I don't like that he's drawing this out, but we're being sheltered and fed, so I suppose I can wait.

“Have a sip of your tea first,” he says.

When he sees me hesitate, he lets out a laugh and says, “Do not worry. I promise you will not be poisoned.”

I take a sip. The tea is strong but good.

“If you like it, I have more. It's a particular tea from China: pu'er tea. Do you remember where the leaves come from, Caleb?”

The wheels are turning in my brain. No, it's not possible!

“In fact, I liked the tree so much that I discovered an economical method to transport the entire tree to New Beijing.”

My jaw drops. Abbie and I exchange amazed looks. “D-Dmitri?” I stutter.

He nods, grinning from ear to ear.

“How did you . . . We thought you were . . .”

“After you and the others left the car, I fought the override. I thought I could defeat it,” he says. “But inevitably, the recall on Phoebe was too strong. Phoebe and I and the car were brought back to 2061 New Beijing.” He pauses to take a sip of his tea.

“We landed in the Yard. I was shocked when I discovered where we were. I was convinced that my life was forfeit. That either Uncle or Frank and their goons would ambush me as soon as I showed my face. I hid for a good long while before I was brave enough to come out.

“When I finally did, all was quiet. The Yard and indeed the Compound were entirely deserted. A sign outside the front door of the Compound indicated that the building was available for rent. This made no sense to me. I needed to find out what had happened. So I left the car where it was and made my way to Headquarters.”

Dmitri shifts slightly in his chair before continuing. “I know what you may be thinking. That I was not in 2061 and I had landed in a time/place before Uncle had leased the premises where the Compound was located. This thought had occurred to me as well, and that is why the first thing I did after leaving the Compound was to hunt down a copy of the
New Beijing Times.
”

“And?” Abbie says.

“And the date on the front page was October 9, 2061. The day of our escape. When I arrived at Headquarters, I took the elevator to the fourth floor. The fake reception area was just as I remembered it, but beyond it, the Timeless Treasures reception area was empty, and all the doors were open. I walked down the hall and peered into the lounge. It was also empty, but more than that, all of the furniture had been removed.”

Dmitri pauses for a moment to take another sip of tea, and I use the time to let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding.

“I then took the stairwell to the fifth floor and proceeded to Uncle's office. If there were answers to be found, they would be there, I figured. When I arrived within five feet of the door to his office, I hesitated. By all outward appearances, the place was deserted. But who knew for sure what lay beyond that door. My mind began imagining all sorts of scenarios, including one where Uncle was waiting for me in his office with a smile playing across his face and his sword across his lap.”

As he says this, my mind flashes to the events in the subway tunnel. The last time I saw Uncle, he was lying on the subway platform. But he wasn't dead, was he? In fact, he was reaching for something.

“I gathered up my courage and walked the remaining few feet to his office door,” continues Dmitri. “The door slid open, and I stepped through.”

I glance over at Abbie. All of her attention is on Dmitri.

“The office was devoid of furniture and any other signs of use. Four bare walls, a ceiling and floor, and nothing else. Excuse me, three bare walls. The fourth wall was taken up by a huge aquarium. But that too had been emptied.

“I turned to go, but as I did, something caught my eye: a single piece of yellow paper, resting on the windowsill.

“As I reached for it, my mind conjured up a hundred different possibilities as to what it might be. My first thought was that it was an invoice of some sort, maybe from the movers who had packed and moved everything. Or an eviction notice perhaps. But what I was really hoping for was a note explaining what had happened there and why.

“As it turned out, it was none of those things.” He stands, walks over to the fireplace mantel and fishes a yellow piece of paper out of a blue ceramic jar.

“Perhaps you will have more luck than I've had in solving it,” he says, crossing the room. “I have gotten as far as determining that it is a word puzzle of sorts.”

Dmitri hands me the piece of paper. I angle it so that both Abbie and I can view it at the same time.

Two lines are written on it:

One Down, Six Letters: “One who is off to the races . . . again.”

Eight Across, Nine Letters: “One who is good at pulling strings.”

I stare at the words for a second before it hits me. Then I break out into a huge smile.

Abbie's also grinning.

“Nassim!” we shout at the same time.

“Who?” asks Dmitri.

“Nassim,” I repeat. “He was Uncle's assistant before Luca. Nassim was obsessed with crossword puzzles. I escaped with him and another recruit to 1967. But by the time I thawed, he was already gone. He left a message with Abbie, though, saying he was ‘off to the races.'”

“I see,” says Dmitri. “But what about the second clue? To me, ‘good at pulling strings' refers to one who is adept at getting things done.”

“That's true,” Abbie says. “But it also has another meaning, right, Cale?”

I nod. “A puppeteer is good at pulling strings. Nassim left this crossword for us to tell us that he was the puppeteer at the Mother Shipton play in Sir Isaac Newton's mother's garden. He used the Mother Shipton puppet to warn us about Frank.”

I stare at the words on the page, and my eyes go wide.

“There's more here, Abbie!”

“Really? What?”

“Do you remember the gypsy fortune-teller? When she was telling my fortune, she said I had an important decision to make and that one six eight nine trusted I would make the right choice. I wondered for a long time what she meant by that. I figured it had something to do with time traveling to the year 1689.”

“And it doesn't?”

I shake my head, point my finger at the paper and recite, “One Down, Six Letters, Eight Across, Nine Letters . . . one six eight nine!”

“Nassim told her to say that!” Abbie shouts.

Something else occurs to me: it must also have been Nassim whom I glimpsed for an instant skating on the Charles behind Luca just before I was nabbed. And at the other times too, when I felt I was being watched. My fingers trace the surface of the sheet of paper, and I feel a warm tingle. Nassim is out there somewhere, and he's been watching over me.

“What happened after you found the note?” Abbie asks Dmitri.

“I returned to the Compound,” he says, continuing his story. “The subway car was as I had left it, undisturbed. I climbed on board and checked the controls. I had no idea whether they would still work. I immediately entered the coordinates to return to here, the time/place where I left you. But nothing happened.

“I tried entering other coordinates, but with a similar result. And then something occurred to me. When I had first reprogrammed the controls during Operation Exodus, I had set as a default midnight on April 4, 1978, Kiev, Ukraine, knowing that, like all of the other recruits, I was going to go home to my own time/place. So, in my last attempt, I pressed the default sequence.”

Dmitri stands up, walks over to the table and studies the sandwiches before selecting one with chicken salad. Then he sits back down and takes a small bite before continuing.

“Luckily, it worked. I arrived back at my home three days after the cruise was supposed to end. My parents, as it turned out, were still in Oban, Scotland. They had stayed there following the cruise with other worried parents, meeting with the police and trying to find me and the other missing children. When I showed up at home, my aunt contacted them, and they took the next flight back to Kiev.

“As you can expect, they had many questions for me, as did our neighbors, who awoke the morning after my return to find a broken-down subway car in our yard. That was the last timeleap I took. I spent years trying to repair it, to make it work once again as a time machine. But sadly, it was beyond my ability.”

Dmitri takes another bite of his sandwich. “As I mentioned, I had a fix on where and when I dropped you off. The year was 2043, and the location was fifty-three miles southwest of Kiev. When I returned to my home it was 1978, and I was eleven years old. And now . . .”

“And now it is 2043 again,” Abbie says. “That would mean that you are . . . seventy-six years old!”

“You are a good mathematician,” Dmitri says, chuckling. “So as you can see, I did finally manage to catch up with you. But I had to do it the old-fashioned way . . . by aging. Well, not entirely. As I mentioned, this place is fifty-three miles south and west of my real home. I purchased this cottage and retired here. And have been waiting for you ever since.”

Wow. That was quite a story. I have a million questions for him, including whether he has his own family, but before I can ask, Dmitri gets up.

“I have another surprise for you,” he says. He walks over to a weathered cabinet and swings the doors open, revealing a screen.

“Peekaboo!” says an all too familiar voice.