Time Risk: A Time Travel Novel, page 12
“What are the wives talking about?” Rachel asked.
Victoria laughed. “Yes, the wives, Rachel. By the way, are you married?”
“No.”
“Ever married?”
“No… Engaged once.”
“Well, good for you, Kiddo. I was married once for about five minutes, and I didn’t take to it. He barked commands, and I kicked him out of bed. We got the damned thing annulled in Vegas. It was the smartest thing I’ve ever done. And then I found the nearest blackjack table and won over two-hundred bucks… a very good omen, don’t you think?”
Victoria turned serious as she reached for Greg’s wine glass and drank it dry. “I don’t think it’s a good time to get married, Rachel. Not for women, anyway. There is definitely a war just waiting to thunder on the horizon. But I wander and pontificate.”
“As you often do,” Greg said, with a big, challenging grin. “And your editors never scratch out your literary misdemeanors. Why is that?”
She batted her eyes. “Because they recognize genius, Gregory boy.”
“Flawed genius, Victoria. You use too many adjectives and adverbs.”
“And your writing has become too angry.”
Rachel cleared her throat. “Back to the women… I am very curious as to what the wives talk about.”
Victoria sat back. “Ah, yes, that’s what I was about to say. As to the wives. The Admiral’s wife said, ‘I have never been happy packing and moving. I make lists upon lists and more lists, but I don’t like it one little bit. I’d like to settle, have a nice white picket fence, a yard, a flower garden, and a gazebo. You can’t pack up and move a gazebo, can you?’ The other wives nodded their agreement.”
Greg shook his head with exaggerated sorrow. “Well, my dear Victoria, see what you have to look forward to when you marry your Boston captain?”
Victoria confronted him with a hard stare. “I just told you, Gregory Boy, marriage ain’t for a gal like me. I’m allergic to bridesmaids, the Wedding March, and rice.”
Rachel changed the subject. “And what kinds of articles have you been writing, Victoria?”
Victoria shifted her gaze to Rachel. “Greg’s not the only one writing about the possibility of a Pacific war. I’ve been out… looking around. I went riding this morning with my Boston captain along the Honouliuli Trail, and the world looks so peaceful and beautiful and safe, with all those ships in Pearl Harbor. I went up to Schofield Barracks and watched the soldiers line up for a drill with rifles and web belts. Wheeler Field is busy, too. Lots of planes taking off and landing. Lots of young and handsome pilots being trained.”
Victoria continued. “They—that is, the military—let me look around, Rachel, because I’m writing an article about how well prepared, for any contingency, our military is.”
Greg barked out a laugh. “And there’s another reason they let Victoria look around, Rachel. Victoria here was invited by the Roosevelts to live at the White House for a time, and she spent evenings helping Eleanor Roosevelt write her correspondence and her syndicated newspaper column, My Day. I’m sure you’ve read some of them.”
Rachel kept an impassive face. She’d never heard of the column, and she hadn’t come across it in any of her briefings or research. But she lied. “Yes, of course. I’ve read a few.”
“I’ll never get the security clearance Victoria has, Rachel. Will I, Victoria?”
“No, Greg, you will not. You need to back off a little. It’s not easy being in command, you know. It’s not easy making decisions that will affect thousands, if not millions, of lives. Yes, we reporters have to hold their feet to the fire, but we also need to cut the brass a little slack sometimes, too.”
Greg flashed her a snide grin. “Is that what you’re doing, Victoria? Giving that captain from Boston a little slack in the middle of the night, and early in the morning?”
Victoria tensed, giving him a withering look. “You are a bastard, you know? A real pain-in-the-ass bastard.”
She stood abruptly, turning to Rachel with a strained smile. “I hope I haven’t kept you from your dinner, Rachel. It was nice meeting you. Who knows, maybe we’ll see each other again.”
When she was gone, Greg looked at Rachel, shrugged and gave her a wavering smile. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little jealous of her, Rachel. Maybe she just gets to me. Hey, she went to Bryn Mawr, and she can get through doors I’ll never even see.”
“Maybe we should finish our dinners,” Rachel said.
Greg stared down at his plate with a touch of sadness. “I need a drink.”
He flagged down a waiter and ordered a Scotch on the rocks.
Rachel ate quietly until it arrived, and then Greg took the Scotch down in two gulps and ordered another.
Rachel had finished her dinner when the second Scotch arrived, and Greg drank that one down as well.
“Something wrong?” Rachel asked. “Did Victoria stir something up?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “No, no. She’s a witch. A very pretty and a very smart witch, but a witch just the same.”
“Is there something you want to talk about?” Rachel asked.
He looked at her pointedly. “Yeah, there is. But first I want to hear about you, the mysterious Rachel No-Last-Name.”
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CHAPTER 23
Greg’s smile was proud and certain. “I’ve been doing all the talking, Rachel, as usual, since I’m a self-centered bastard, but now I want to hear about you: what your childhood was like in Cleveland; what your job is and why you decided to come to Hawaii. And who is this mystery man you spoke about so glibly? I mean, he isn’t with you, is he? And you accepted my dinner invitation. I find that utterly fascinating. Come on, Rachel. Talk to me. I’m about to tell you all my secrets. Share a few of yours with me.”
Rachel opened her mouth to speak, but again, Greg jumped in. “But first, what is your last name? I won’t eat another bite until you tell me. And then right after you tell me all your secrets, we’ll dance the night away.”
“I don’t dance,” Rachel said with a raised palm, as if to stop him from insisting. “At least, not that kind of dancing,” she concluded, pointing toward the dance floor.
“Nonsense. Of course, you can dance. Everybody can dance, Rachel, and they’re playing Glen Miller and Benny Goodman, two of my favorite bandleaders.”
Greg adjusted his tie and indicated a hand toward her. “Now, and finally, let’s hear all about you.”
Rachel drained her wineglass. “I’m not good at small talk. Never have been. So, why don’t you tell me that doozy of a story you promised to tell me earlier?”
Greg leaned back, pursing his lips in thought. “But I don’t know the first thing about you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“And you’re not going to tell me about yourself or any of your secrets, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
He sat up and pointed at her, his grin mischievous. “And that’s why I trust you, Rachel. You’re one big walking secret, who is doing some kind of secret work, no doubt for the government, and you will fight and scheme and kill to protect that secret. Right?”
Rachel didn’t hesitate. “Yes, although the ‘kill to protect’ might be a bit melodramatic.”
“So that’s why I trust you,” he said, beckoning to her with a curved hand. “Come closer while I tell you one helluva story.”
She leaned forward.
Greg glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “I have a source—a damned reliable source—who tells me that the Japanese are definitely going to attack Pearl Harbor, and soon.”
Rachel did a slow blink. “So you said before.”
Greg scooted his chair closer to the table, as the band began to play Begin the Beguine. “Rachel… have you read the novel, The Time Machine, by H.G. Wells?”
Rachel did another slow blink. “Yes… years ago. For school.”
“What would you say if I told you that, without doubt—any doubt—the Japanese are going to bomb Pearl Harbor this Sunday, December 7, 1941, at about 7:55 in the morning?”
Rachel’s pulse surged. She swallowed.
He grinned with satisfaction, his eyes a bit blurry from the booze. “I see it in your eyes, Rachel. You don’t believe me. You think I’m crazy.”
Rachel reached for her glass of water and sipped at it. “That’s a big statement. How do you know?”
“How do I know? I know because where I come from, the Pearl Harbor attack is history. It happened a long time ago.”
Rachel felt an unlikely confusion, and her mind raced about, trying to match his words with the sudden strange reality. Her eyes screwed into him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He folded his hands, looking smug. “Rachel No-Last-Name, I’m not from this time. I’m from the future. I time traveled in a machine from 2023 back to 1930.”
Rachel stayed mute, suddenly feeling hot.
Greg continued. “In H. G. Wells’s The Time Machine, the protagonist doesn’t have a name, and the story is narrated by Mr. Hillyer, a dinner guest. Well, right here and now, Rachel, sitting before you, I’m both the time travel protagonist, Greg Stone, and I’m also the narrator and your dinner guest, Mr. Hillyer.”
Rachel shut her eyes and scanned her memory banks. Dr. Elsden’s words surfaced, burning hot in her brain. She recalled those words in detail. “About a year ago, we were approached by a rather clever adventurer—a 32-year-old man—who begged us to travel back to 1930. He offered Mr. Whitlock $500,000, which he said he’d won in a lottery. Anyway, Andrew Whitlock gave his approval for the experiment, and we reluctantly sent the man. It was to be just a simple depart-and-return trip. The launch was successful, and he was the first to use a Temporal Beeper. It confirmed that he had in fact arrived in 1930, but unfortunately, he never engaged it a second time to come home. We haven’t heard from him, and he should have returned seven months ago.”
Greg licked his lips. “I can’t read your expression, Rachel. Are you shocked? Do you believe me? Do you think I’m crazy? Tell me.”
With active and vigilant eyes, Rachel struggled to reboot her thoughts. “A time machine,” she repeated. “Just so I’m getting this straight, you just said you came from the future back to 1930. What have you been doing since 1930?”
Greg picked at the linen tablecloth as if he were picking at a memory. “Because I knew things about the future, I impressed the right people at the right time. It’s a lot easier to build an identity in these times than in the twenty-first-century, Rachel. But I won’t go into any explanation about future technology because you wouldn’t understand it. All you need to know is that I had always dreamed of living in the 1930s, a time rich with history that led up to World War II. Becoming a writer and reporter was another ambition of mine. With my deep understanding of historical events and the stock market, I quickly climbed the ladder of success, eventually becoming a Pulitzer Prize-winning writer who has traveled the world.”
Rachel’s right foot tapped the floor as she contemplated what to say, how much she should say, or whether she should say anything at all. She decided to play dumb. “So, if you know the Japanese are going to attack Pearl Harbor, why haven’t you told anyone?”
He tipped his head, smiling. “I’ve tried, and no one has listened. So, I’m writing the entire story and it will appear in tomorrow’s paper, listing, in detail, times, names, battleships, destroyers, casualty reports, anything and everything I can remember. The works.”
Rachel kept her gaze steady, but her voice wavered. “No one will believe you. They’ll think you’re crazy or a spy. The military will come for you, and this time I won’t be there to help you out.”
“They’ll have to believe me, Rachel. Don’t you see? I have details. I am the most powerful person in the world because I know the future.”
“Your editor won’t publish it.”
“My editor gives me free rein. I can publish whatever I want. Rachel, don’t you get it? The entire world, including Hirohito, Yamamoto, Roosevelt and Hitler; they will all know that Greg Stone wrote it. I’ll get another Pulitzer, and I’ll be in the history books in the future.”
“And you’re going to tell them about being a time traveler?” Rachel asked.
“I don’t need to. I’ll just say I have sources… the most reliable sources of my entire career.”
Rachel grew absorbed while she thought her predicament through. If he warned them about the attack, then she didn’t have to break her vow of silence. Maybe he could prevent the tragedy.
But she and Donald had discussed this before she left. “Can we trust you not to contact the military and warn them?” he’d said. “If you do, and they believe you, it will create a seismic shift in the space/time trajectory. It will rupture the fabric of time and change the world in ways we cannot even imagine. Not to sound too melodramatic, but it could even destroy the world. There is that slight possibility.”
“Greg, changing history might do more harm than good.”
He released a bubble of laughter. “Then you believe me, Rachel?”
“I believe you’ve had too much to drink, and you should go home and sleep it off.”
His expression darkened. “You are working for the government, aren’t you? I knew it. I smelled it as soon as I saw you climb onto that bus. You came to my rescue in Wahiawa because you wanted to learn what I know. But you see, I’m the reckless, devil-may-care type. I dare you to tell any of your superiors, or whatever you call them. I dare you, Rachel, with no last name.”
The lights in the room dimmed, and the band played a slow tune.
Greg stared glaze-eyed into space for a long moment. And then, to Rachel’s surprise, he excused himself and rose. Rachel watched him stroll across the terrace to the wicker wrap-around bar, lean over and speak to the white-coated bartender.
To help calm her agitation, Rachel got up and moved toward the dance floor, wondering what she should do. Should she stop him? How? Would the military and President Roosevelt believe Greg’s story? Would they kill him? If they believed him, how would they respond? Maybe they could get some of the warships out of the harbor, at least.
On the bandstand, twelve musicians played the romantic and evocative Moonlight Serenade as couples swayed across the dance floor, the air thick with expensive perfume, cigarette smoke, and scents from exotic floor plants, all being gently stirred by the lazy spin of overhead fans.
There was a relaxed celebration in the ballroom—a carefree timelessness, and the world with all its mysteries and problems seemed thousands of miles away.
Rachel thought, If they only knew what was coming.
Minutes later, Rachel returned to the table, where Greg sat hunched over a third Scotch on ice. She lowered to her chair, folded her hands, and waited for him to lift his head.
“Scotch and wine don’t mix so good,” she said. “Forgive my grammar.”
Not looking at her, he said, “There’s a time for wine, and a time for Scotch.”
By the time the waiter cleared the table and presented dessert menus, Greg’s mood had darkened. He’d finished his Scotch and ordered a double.
“Does this sudden need for Scotch mean you’re having second thoughts? Because whether it’s true or not, Greg, you should have second thoughts,” Rachel said. “You can’t change the past. Something will stop you.”
When he put his eyes on her, they were slitted. “No second thoughts. None. I’m going to finish that story in the wee small hours of the morning, and it will be out in the afternoon edition. The Friday afternoon edition is read by more people than the morning edition. Everyone is getting ready for the weekend.”
Rachel lowered her eyes. “Greg, let’s say they do believe you and what if history is changed? It could destroy the world. It’s possible. What was meant to happen won’t happen, but who knows which way the world will go.”
Greg didn’t respond until his next Scotch arrived. When the waiter asked if they’d be having dessert, both declined.
Greg's speech was slurred. “I don’t give a damn one way or the other which way the world goes. It ain’t no paradise, even in Hawaii, is it, Rachel No-Last-Name?”
Rachel stood up and reached for her purse and hat. She ran her gaze over the crowd and then faced Greg. “All right, Greg. I’ll get a taxi back to my hotel.”
He gave her a sneering smile. “I know you don’t believe me, but I don’t give a damn. I’ll show you. I’ll show them all.”
Rachel put on her hat and nudged her chair against the table. “You shouldn’t drink, Greg. You get mean and stupid.”
Rachel pivoted and left him there, glaring at her.
In the taxi on the way back to the hotel, she felt her own war going on inside. Part of her was intrigued by the possibility that time and events could be changed, and part of her was terrified.
Back in her room, she paced, undressed, then slipped into bed and tried to sleep. She couldn’t. First, she had beaten up Greg’s attackers, and then she’d been seen with him a second time. If his article was published and the military arrested him, they would come for her and probably lock her up, too.
She threw off the sheet, got out of bed, and quickly put on her culottes and a Hawaiian blouse. After packing her bag, she left the hotel, leaving the lei on the dresser. In the taxi, she told the driver to take her to any mid-priced hotel.
When he dropped her at the Aloha Hotel, she paid him, waited until he’d driven away, and then started off into the tropical night, searching for another place to stay.
If the military came for her, they’d easily track down the taxi driver who’d just dropped her. It was a lovely night, a lonely night, and a scary night.
Ten minutes later, she saw a green neon sign with a flashing palm tree, and the sign read Haven Bungalows. Vacancy.
CHAPTER 24
