Chapter II

THE AMELIA EARHART MISSION

DATELINE: JULY 4, 1937 PLACE: OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

The weather was perfect as the twin-engine Lockheed Electra aircraft landed at Oakland airport as it completed an around-the-world trip. The whirling propellers came to a halt as the engines were switched off and immediately the ticking sounds, characteristic of an engine cooling down, began.

The small door in the center of the left side popped open and a smiling Amelia Earhart put her head out to the applause and cheers from the crowd that surrounded her aircraft. The breeze played with her short, brown hair as she removed her leather helmet and stepped onto the small ladder pushed against the aircraft’s fuselage. A little girl walked towards her with a bouquet of red roses in her hand.

Almost unnoticed, another figure exited the aircraft after her. It was Fred Noonan, the navigator of the trip. Reporters surrounded Amelia, all trying to get an exclusive interview as Noonan removed their baggage and locked up the airplane.

A Monarch butterfly fluttered overhead, staying aloft easily in the rising heat of the airport’s tarmac.

 

DATELINE: 2066 PLACE: TIME TRACKING CENTER, NEW YORK CITY

Joseph Sergi sat alone in the room, his feet up on the table as he reclined in the deep leather chair. He was munching on a meatball hero sandwich as he watched the hologram scene unfurl.

The door opened and Jerry Sullivan entered carrying a salad in a plastic deli container. He nodded to Joseph as he sat down and opened the lid.

“What are you watching, Joseph?” he asked, as he poured on the heavy dressing that he knew was defeating the purpose of eating a healthy green salad.

Joseph shrugged his wide shoulders as he finished swallowing a mouthful. “Not sure, Sully,” he said. “The new Monarch butterfly probe came in this morning with the usual batch and I just grabbed one from the top of the group.”

He looked back at the scene in front of them. “Looks like an old 1930s aviation event.” He took another bite and tried to continue, “Mmmmph!. . . looks like a record was just set or something. There was lots of that going on in early aviation. You know, first flight here, longest flight there; it went on and on. That’s why it was called ‘The Golden Age of Aviation.’”

Sullivan sat closer and squinted. “Looks like Amelia Earhart setting out on a trip.”

“Naw,” responded Joseph, wiping his chin of stray tomato sauce, “the plane just landed before you came in.”

Sullivan reached over and increased the volume to hear the reporter say, “So, Amelia, how does it feel to fly around the world?”

Both men sat forward, suddenly very interested as she answered, “Pretty good, tiring, of course, but it’s always fun to finish a project and start planning the next one.”

Another reporter shouted, “Amelia, Amelia, what’s the next project going to be?”

She smelled the flowers the little girl had given her, and then answered with a big grin on her thin face, “A shower, then a steak dinner and a reunion with my husband, George.” She walked through the crowd with her navigator carrying their bags toward the airport’s operations center. The butterfly flew away.

“Sully,” said Joseph with a tone of concern, “will you call the group together? I think we might have a problem.”

 

One hour later the entire History Trackers Group was in session and gathered around the table watching the scene replay.

Joseph stood and said, “It’s clear now. Amelia Earhart and her navigator, Fred Noonan, returned from their around-the-world trip, from which they were never supposed to return.” He shrugged his shoulders as he raised his eyebrows and said, “What does this mean? I don’t know.” He shrugged again as if to punctuate his statement.

“Why don’t we run a computer check on the possible paths the event will take?” asked Maryellen Muldey, sipping a cold drink.

“Being done as we speak, Maryellen,” answered Joseph.

“Could be good,” said Alexis Shuntly, as she sat close to the hologram, squinting through her thick glasses. “Could really push women in the aerospace field, her coming back. Could really be good.”

“Did they ever find out what happened when she disappeared?” asked Muldey.

“No,” answered Joseph, “there were many theories, but they never proved any of them.” He pushed back his mop of tangled black hair only to have it return to cover his eyes. “But the one theory that kept coming up in old newspapers and computer printouts, is the one of her being shot down by the pre-war Japanese for flying over their territory.

“She was said to be on a secret photographic mission, and, during her flight, was supposed to depart from her course and fly over the island of Truk, which the Japanese were using as a naval base. Our government wanted photos of their fleet.”

A knock at the door got their attention and Joseph opened it to see Ted, the group’s computer and probe guru. He had a few books under his arm as he was escorted into the room.

Joseph said, “Got anything for us, Ted?”

The tall young man shook his head and said, “Not really, sir, a few ideas, but it’s mostly speculation. As you know the world loved her and went into mourning after her disappearance. There were reports of her making radio calls as she searched for the place she was supposed to land at: Howland Island.”

He opened the books and spread out a map of the world. He pointed to a yellow line that showed her flight path up to where she disappeared.

Ted continued, “In June 1937 she and her navigator, Fred Noonan, took off from Oakland, California, and flew to Miami; San Juan, Puerto Rico; Venezuela, then to Brazil and across to Africa.

“She flew across the African continent, then across Southern Asia. They continued to Australia, then to Lae, New Guinea. They were last seen as they left New Guinea on July 2, 1937, on their way to Howland Island in the mid-Pacific, where fuel supplies awaited them. They never made it. There were radio calls from her, but no wreckage was ever found even though there was an extensive search for days by the U.S. Navy.

“There’s one more thing,” he said, looking at another book, “There were a few messages, but only one was authenticated as coming from her. It was; ‘We must be on you, but we cannot see you. Gas is running low. We are circling but cannot see island.’”

He put his book down, and the group sat somberly as though reliving the very moment when she disappeared.

“Well,” said Joseph breaking the spell, “maybe she’ll make it back after all, at least this time. What do you say, group? Do we let this change in time go through?”

“Whew!” whistled Jerry Sullivan through his teeth. “I’m not so sure. I mean how far up the line do we go to see if this is okay to let pass?”

Muldey stood with her arms crossed and said, “What’s so bad about her coming back? I mean she was an accomplished woman and Mr. Noonan had a life of his own. I don’t see what harm it could do. Plus the country would get back one of their bright spots in those days of the Depression.”

Joseph shook his head in a slow, deliberate manner. “Boy, I don’t know. The world went on without her. We just don’t know what would happen if we change it that way.”

Alexis Shuntly now stood and came right to the point. “Listen. We are members of a group entrusted with keeping things on the correct path. The world of today doesn’t even know we exist, and, all we owe them is to keep the history they know on track.” She paused and eyed each member before she continued.

“If we change it for one woman and one man just to keep an icon alive, well, we don’t know what’ll happen.” She raised an index finger to make an additional point and said, “However, I do think it’d be nice to see how she would have progressed in her field. Her life and his were cut short after all.” She sat down as she went on, “So, I propose we all take an era of time, and see if her return changes anything that is bad for us and our people.” She looked at them. “Does that sound reasonable to you?”

Joseph nodded and answered, “We’ll need a time limit. We can’t let this develop into something that becomes a reality, unless we clear it all the way to today.”

“Two days,” proposed Anthony Landi. “We each take an era or two and look it over for two days. Sound good?”

Everyone nodded and Joseph said, “Okay, I’ll work out a schedule for who does which era and when they can look at the returning hologram from their assigned era. Meanwhile, I suggest we break and come back in an hour for assignments. I’ll take the first six hours starting tonight.” He stood up. “See you all back here in one hour.”

 

It was day two and Maryellen Mudley sat in the council room and watched holograms that the latest probe had brought back from her assigned era. San Francisco looked beautiful on this early summer day in 1965. The sun was high and a light breeze blew offshore as the tourists explored the myriad food shops and souvenir stores. They did what tourists had done for years in the City by the Sea: eat, shop and take pictures.

A seagull probe circled low over the bay. Its program was to check on the 1960’s West Coast.

A small tremor shook the port, doing no damage but scaring the tourists as the storeowners sought to make light of it for fear of losing their customers. The drone finished its mission and sent its hologram message to its home in 2066.

Muldey was about to send the probe further up the coast when something piqued her curiosity. She zoomed in and sat looking at the hologram as the tourists went about their vacationing.

She pressed a button on a small intercom by the leather seat she occupied. The button summoned Ted, who, as usual, sat just outside the door whenever one of the members was in. He opened the door and looked in.

“Yes, Ms. Muldey, can I help you?”

“Ted, would you be so kind as to call the group in for me? Say, in one hour’s time?”

“Yes ma’am,” answered the young man as he turned and left the room.

 

One hour later, the room took on an air of congeniality as the members gathered. One at a time they took their seats and quieted down as Muldey stood with her hands on her hips.

She started off with a warm smile and said almost apologetically, “On one hand I don’t want anything to have gone wrong, but on the other, I’d feel bad calling you all in here if it’s nothing.”

“Don’t be silly, Maryellen, it’s happened to all of us at least once,” said Joseph as he pushed back his long hair from his eyes. As usual it fell right back.

“Well,” said Muldey, “take a look at the hologram and see if anything strikes you. I’m assigned the 1960s and this is San Francisco, 1965. See what you think.” She reached over and activated the hologram.

The same scene she saw earlier was reenacted as they watched. The hologram finished after the tremor.

“Notice anything?” she asked.

Jerry Sullivan quipped, “Yes, I realized I need a vacation.”

The group laughed as Maryellen shook her head. “Maybe it’s nothing after all.”

“Wait,” said Alexis Shuntly as she sat closer to the hologram. “Play it again. I just want to see something.”

Muldey played it again. “Anything, Alexis?” she asked.

“Were there always so many Asians visiting San Francisco?” Shuntly asked. “I mean no disrespect, but I didn’t see any Caucasians, or for that matter any blacks or Hispanics either, just Asians.”

Muldey nodded her head. “So, it’s not just me. It just seemed odd that there were no other nationalities there except Asians.”

“I think we should send back another probe, aimed at checking out the tourists,” said Sullivan as he cleaned his glasses.

Muldey looked around the table and said, “All agree?” Every hand went up. “Fine then,” and she summoned Ted in.

“Ted, we need to send back another drone. San Francisco again, same time, but concentrate on the people, tourists, shopkeepers, police, the whole gamut.”

Ted wrote down the instructions for the hologram and said, “Yes, Ms. Muldey, I’ll need an hour.”

“Good,” she said, turning to the group, “back here in one hour?” They left the room as Ted went to send back another probe.

 

An hour later Muldey activated the latest hologram as they sat around the table. The jovial banter had stopped as they all watched it.

A policeman waved a group of tourists across a street as they headed to the waterfront to watch the seals beg for food. The probe lifted and glided across the street as it transmitted back a steady video-hologram to the group. The signs on all the storefronts were written in an Asian language. The street signs were in Asian characters as was everything that the probe flew past. It settled on a pier and turned its head around, sending the visuals back to the group. Finally, it took off and headed inland.

Muldey reached over and fast-forwarded the probe through the next hour of flight. It’s showing that the only inhabitants of San Francisco and across the Bay Bridge were Asian.

“What can this mean?” asked Joseph.

Maryellen Muldey shook her head. “I speak a little Japanese,” she said, “and that’s the only language I heard from the probe’s audio system. Do you think this has anything to do with World War Two?”

“Or,” asked Sullivan, “did Japanese simply purchase most of the stores in the San Francisco Bay area?”

Alexis Shuntly shook her head. “Not likely. Too much money involved. Besides some places have been in the same family for generations. They’d never sell.”

Joseph looked around at the group and said, “Well, I think we have to send back another probe. But this time we use a crawler probe.”

He pointed to a library on the outskirts of the Bay City as he continued, “And send it into the library to scan some history books for a clue as to what took place.” He looked around the long table and asked, “All agree?”

Nods followed his suggestion and Muldey summoned Ted back in.

After briefing the probe manager, Joseph said, “Let’s have a lunch break, gang.” He looked at his watch. “Back here in one hour.” The chairs scuffed the floor as the group dispersed for lunch.

 

In another hour, they were all back in their seats as Ted finished setting up the latest hologram. Joseph got up and activated it.

The scene showed a library at night coming into view and he fast-forwarded it. The next scene was a book opened in the dark room as the probe scanned page after page using its infrared light.

The book was printed in vertical columns of Japanese. Joseph had had Ted set up a translating machine next to the hologram for just such a reason. The translation appeared on the screen, which they all read.

 

“A Study in Air/Land/Sea Operations Against a Powerful Enemy to Expand the Imperial Japanese Empire.” Mandated Reading for School Grades Three to Five. By Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, 1947.

“On Sunday December 25, 1939, at exactly seven o’clock in the morning, bombers and fighters from the glorious Japanese fleet which circled off the Hawaiian coast launched a devastating attack on the Hawaiian Islands.

“The raid sank the imperialist American navy as they lay asleep in their beds after celebrating all evening. A few rose to do battle but were quickly dispatched by our glorious fighter pilots. The list of ships sunk included all three aircraft carriers and their aircraft.

The second wave of bombers, unopposed, leveled the barracks; oil and storage areas while fighters attacked the artillery emplacements.

That evening the Imperial marines landed on three different spots, once again against token resistance, and occupied the airfields and docks as paratroopers landed and captured their military headquarters. The American top military leaders were captured, some still in their nightclothes. The fighting lasted two more days, but the outcome was never in doubt.

At the same time, the Imperial submarine forces destroyed the Panama Canal locks, preventing the enemy from receiving reinforcements from their Atlantic forces in a timely manner.

(Footnote 1: Knowing the enemy forces must now come around the tip of South America to reinforce their beleaguered forces on the West Coast, the Japanese Submarine Command had its forces deployed and waiting for them. That only one enemy capital ship escaped, was a testament to the fighting spirit of the Japanese Submarine forces. This ship was sunk later off New York when the German Submarine forces joined ours in a successful blockade.)

The occupation of San Francisco took place after Mexico joined the Axis Powers. Together, Japanese and Mexican forces invaded Southern California as Japanese troops landed simultaneously in Alaska and drove down the coastline to California.

A truce was quickly arranged when the government of the, then, United States, realized that the people from the West Coast were running into the deserts, dying in droves as our carrier-based air forces ravaged them endlessly. The occupying powers settled for the west coast of America, all the way east to include Montana, Wyoming and Colorado for Japan and New Mexico and Texas for Mexico.”

The room was quiet as they read and reread the book written by the Japanese admiral who they knew never survived the war.

“What’s going on here?” asked Joseph as he leaped to his feet and stared at the hologram. “How the heck did this happen?”

Muldey patted his arm, “Easy, Joseph, we just have to track backward to find the slip. Let’s just stay loose.”

Joseph sat back holding his head. “Let’s send the probe to another book in that library, a timeline of the . . . the war.” He looked up at them. “I think that’s the answer. Look for a timeline of the war. Let’s see how they started the war and why they changed the attack date from 1941 to 1939.”

They called Ted back in again.

 

An hour later, Ted sent back the crawler probe to open and scan a timeline of the Second World War. Two hours later they were looking through the probe’s eyes as it opened another book printed in Japanese. The scanning began and the translating machine began transmitting as the group watched closely.

 

“Air/Land/Sea Battle of Conquest Timeline of North America” By Amishi Kononda, Imperial War Museum 1952

1 Attack the United States Fleet at Pearl Harbor on December 25, 1939*

2 Occupy the Islands

3 Destroy Panama Canal Locks

4 Sign Secret Mexican Agreement

5 Attack Mainland USA with Mexican Troops

6 Set Imperial Submarines to block the US reinforcements arriving at southern tip of South America and sink all but one.”

Alexis Shuntly cut in suddenly. “See what the asterisk on number one is all about, Joseph. I want to see what it refers to.”

Joseph shifted down to the bottom of the page to the footnotes and checked the asterisk of number one. It read; “*Note: The Amelia Earhart Incident persuaded the Imperial Naval Staff to push the attack date forward. Originally it was set for December 7, 1941.”

With a gasp, they all sat back and looked at each other in shock. Sullivan said it for all of them. “The Amelia Earhart Incident? What the heck does that mean?”

Muldey shook her head. “Well, we partially found out what happens if we have Amelia return. The war takes a bad turn.” She looked back at the hologram as she continued, “But why? What did Amelia do, to have this happen?”

“Not a bad turn,” quipped Landi, “a very, very bad turn. They occupy almost half of the country. We can’t let this happen.”

Sullivan nodded, “Right, but we have to find out what she did to have this happen. I mean, what happened to her originally? Did the Japanese shoot her down? And if so, why?”

“The Japanese government always claimed they had nothing to do with her disappearance,” said Muldey, “but, who really knows?”

“Send the probe back into the library,” said Joseph, “and this time have it look for anything to do with the ‘The Amelia Earhart Incident.’ We’ll come back in another hour.” Once again they all shuffled out as Ted went back to his Probe Command Console.

 

A little over an hour later, the hologram showed the same library interior and another book the probe had moved to a table and was in the process of scanning. The interpreter computer came alive with the translated version. It read:

 

“The Amelia Earhart Incident”

By Yonishi Genda, Imperial Japanese Military Historian 1948

“In 1937, when Amelia Earhart landed after her around-the-world record-breaking venture, the Imperial Japanese Government and Imperial Navy intelligence discovered that she had detoured slightly off her planned course to fly over Truk Island. At that time the Imperial Navy was using this island to place warships, especially aircraft carriers that they did not want the world to know of.

The Japanese military buildup was kept secret to lull the American and British governments into thinking they had the upper hand militarily in the Pacific Ocean. The U.S. Navy was suspicious and asked Earhart to take pictures of Truk on the pretense of being off course.

This revelation caused great concern in the American and British military and also in the Imperial Japanese Navy. Admiral Yamamoto was asked to push his plan of attack ahead of schedule. The Imperial Navy also commanded him not just to sink their fleet, but also to invade the Hawaiian Islands.

At the same time, our intelligence in Mexico came up with an ingenious plan to have the Mexican Government join us in our endeavor to stop the U.S. from any further encroachment into our rightful domain, the Pacific Ocean area, and to regain their old territories, New Mexico and Texas.

After our glorious victory over the American fleet and the occupation of the Hawaiian Islands, our army and marines landed on the North and East Coasts of the American mainland as the Mexicans and some of our marine forces went north through Southern California, to destroy the United States Army between them. As General Tojo said at the capitulation of General Patton in the Nevada desert; “Banzi!”

“(Note: For more information on the capitulation of the British Forces in the Australian campaign, refer to ‘The Burma/Australian Campaign’ by Mishi Honora, Imperial Military Historian.)”

 

“Enough,” said Joseph as he stood looking at the hologram in front of them. “I’m afraid Earhart must be stopped from ever returning.” He continued, as his gaze settled on each member, “I hope you all think I’m right.”

There was a unanimous show of hands.

“All right,” he went on, “let’s get Ted to set up a meeting with Bill Scott from The 1800 Club as soon as possible. We have to have the best on this mission.”

 

DATELINE: JULY 7, 1955 PLACE: CONEY ISLAND, BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

Bill Scott aimed the pistol at the target along with six others as they waited for the signal to start shooting. He fit right in with the crowd visiting Coney Island as he was dressed in a black leather motorcycle jacket, white tee shirt, jeans and scuffed motorcycle boots. His longish hair was greased and combed back on the sides leaving a curl dangling between his eyes.

He looked at the others competing against him: a boy about eleven, his mother, father and sister. Next to the sister was a tall man in his fifties and his grandson of about seven years of age. At the signal, they all started shooting.

Bill was amazed to see the boy’s Ping-Pong ball in the glass tube rise faster than his as they filled them with water from their water pistols.

Finally, the eleven-year-old’s Ping-Pong ball popped out of the top of the tube and the man behind the counter announced him as the winner. He handed the boy a Kewpie doll, as he tried to get everyone to try their hand at it again for only five cents.

Bill shook his head and turned to leave. Isn’t it past his bedtime? he thought looking at his watch. It’s eight o’clock already.

“Maybe I’ll take a ride on the Cyclone,” he said to himself as he looked over at the famous wooden roller coaster shooting down the steep tracks to the screams of the riders.

The time traveler walked toward it but first made a stop at Nathan’s frankfurter stand. He ordered a frankfurter with sauerkraut, a side order of French fries and he smothered them with catsup. Bill’s first bite reminded him why Nathans sold the best hot dogs in the world. He followed the dog with cotton candy and washed it down with a lemon coke. He just finished and wiped his mouth as the communicator in his pocket vibrated. He walked over to an outside phone booth and closed the door behind him as he retrieved the unit and read the incoming message.

“BILL, HELLO FROM 2066. HOPE THIS MESSAGE FINDS YOU IN GOOD HEALTH. WE HAVE ANOTHER MISSION FOR YOU AND WONDER WHEN I CAN TALK TO YOU ABOUT IT IN PERSON? YOUR GRANDSON, EDMUND SCOTT”

Bill typed back instantly:

“HI EDMUND. I’M AT CONEY ISLAND, 1955. BOY, YOU’D LOVE IT HERE. NATHANS FRANKFURTERS AND FRENCH FRIES FOLLOWED BY COTTON CANDY AND A TALL LEMON COKE. I’LL BE BACK AT THE CLUB IN ONE HOUR. SEE YOU THERE. LOVE, GRANDPA BILL.”

Bill dropped a dime into the wooden turnstile and took the “F” subway train from the Coney Island station and got back to The 1800 Club in New York City in an hour. He had just reached his den and was about to drink the hot chocolate Matt had delivered when there was a tap on the door. He opened it and hugged his future grandson.

“Come on in, sonny,” he said, as he guided the young man, “come in and sit down.”

Edmund smiled and said, “Man, Grandpa Bill, you are the ‘wild one’ incarnate! I just love your leather motorcycle jacket, not to mention your jeans and boots. You are one cool cat.”

“Don’t lip off to me, sunny boy,” answered a smiling Bill, “or I’ll tell my motorcycle gang about you.” He looked down at his outfit and said, “Hey, when in Rome, do as the Romans do.”

“Well, I bet you fit right into the ’fifties, grandpa.”

“I’ll change as soon as I get rid of you . . . you sassy young whippersnapper,” Bill quipped as he sat down opposite him. “Now, what did you guys upline dig up now? Last I heard was that you saw something about Amelia Earhart.”

Edmund nodded, took a hologram cube and handed it to Bill. The younger man took a shallow breath and began to speak slowly.

“Here’s a hologram taken in 1965. The council would like you to take a look at it. It’s from a book written and printed in Japan about how they defeated the U.S. in World War Two, and occupied a portion of America along with their ally, Mexico.”

He paused, obviously short of breath in this poor environment, and then continued at a slower pace. “History Tracker Joseph Sergi follows the end of the first hologram with all he knows about it, and Amelia Earhart. He also explains how she was a major contributing factor to this glitch in history.”

Bill activated the cube and sat back to watch it play out.

Ten minutes later Joseph Sergi wound up his presentation as he said, “So, in closing, Mr. Scott, it all comes down to stopping Amelia Earhart from returning to the U.S.” The man in the hologram looked down at his hands as he continued, “We do not say kill her; but, we do say that she must be stopped from coming back. We know the Japanese will start World War Two on December 7, 1941, and we accept that, because we know the final outcome. But the computers tell us that should they attack sooner, and carry out their plans, the outcome could be bleak for the world. The United States would not be ready for a war at that period and Great Britain would be hard pressed with the German problem they face.” The hologram froze denoting the end.

Bill sat there staring at the unmoving Sergi staring back at him. A cough from his future grandson got Bill back to the situation at hand. He stood and beckoned to Edmund.

“Come on, Ed. We have to get you back to a better environment for your own good.” He walked him over to the door and opened it, “Tell the people up there I’ll get a plan together and brief them as soon as possible.” He gave him a hug and sent him on his way back up to 2066. He then turned to the club’s extensive library and removed a book titled, Amelia Earhart . . . Where Are You?

 

Bill spent the rest of the evening reading all he could on Amelia Earhart and her final trip. The grandfather clock struck twelve midnight when he finished. He sent an e-mail to John Brand asking him to come to dinner the next evening, and then went to bed.

 

DATELINE: DECEMBER 14, 1966 PLACE: DIAMONDS BAR & GRILL, NEW YORK CITY

The following evening found Bill and John eating a steak and potatoes dinner at Paddy Diamonds Bar and Grill on December 14th, 1966. They were both bundled up in long overcoats that kept the winter’s chill off them. They sat by the large window that looked out onto the wide street, which was white with three inches of snow. Both men liked stopping in during this period of time, and had a few friends they had a drink with now and then.

Big Bob, a retired World War II army sergeant, dropped a quarter into the Wurlitzer jukebox and soon the Beatles were singing “She Loves you,” and both John and Bill found themselves humming the tune. The back door opened and Paddy’s wife the thin, gray-haired Marge Diamond entered stomping snow off her shoes. She gave her big Irish smile to Bill and John and then told Paddy to lower the jukebox, to everyone’s dismay. Paddy grumbled as he lowered the volume. The music was another reason they both liked the time they were eating in.

Paddy called from his side of the bar, “Bill, two here for ya.”

Bill slid out of the booth and removed the two beers from the bar and returned to the red and tan plastic booth, torn and repaired many times with duct tape. He hefted his mug and said, “Cheers Johnny.”

John pushed back his empty dish and lifted his mug to tap Bill’s.

“Cheers, Bill.”

Bill took two cigars out of his jacket pocket and offered one to John and lit both. Marge Diamond curled her nose at the cigar smoke and decided all was well in her husband’s bar and left to shuffle down the block and home. Paddy turned up the volume to the jukebox.

Dinner was officially over and both time travelers sat smoking cigars and sipping their beers. They had an unwritten rule, “no business talk during dinner,” and now Bill briefed John on the new mission.

 

Twenty minutes later, John said, “So, it comes down to stopping Earhart any way we can? Right?”

Bill shrugged his shoulders and answered, “I guess so, but without harming her, of course.”

John took a long pull on his cigar and asked, “According to the hologram, she survived and returned. Yet in our history books she never made it back. How do they explain that?”

Once again Bill shrugged his shoulders, “They can’t. And I don’t understand it at all.” He sat forward, close to the table, “But suppose she did survive, and the government kept it a secret.”

John blew a smoke ring as he asked, “Why? Why not tell the world she made it?”

“Maybe,” Bill answered, “she had such crucial intelligence about the Japanese navy that the U.S. government decided to keep her return a secret. This way the Japanese never knew how much we knew. Make sense?”

“Could be,” John said, “could be, but then, why didn’t they say so after the war was won?”

“Who knows? But, no matter what, we have to stop her. Any ideas?”

Now John sat forward, “From what I know of her, she somehow lost her way after she left New Guinea on July 2, 1937, as she headed to Howland Island for fuel. I understand there were some U.S. Navy people waiting there for her.” He spread his hands, “Some think she simply got lost and ran out of gas, others think she crash-landed on another island and lived her life out there. Others think that the Japanese intercepted and shot her down for flying over sensitive spots in their area. And there are some who say she survived and lived in seclusion in California away from reporters and the limelight.”

“But why?”

“Well,” John continued, “some think she ended up falling in love with her navigator, Fred Noonan. Maybe they wanted to disappear.” He looked at Bill and with a sigh said, “Let me go home and think this over. I’ll get back to you tomorrow, hopefully with a plan.”

Bill left fifteen dollars for the check and a five-dollar tip for Paddy. They walked to the door as Paddy waved to them. “See ya soon gents,” he shouted over four young men harmonizing to The Drifter’s ‘White Christmas.’” They pulled their respective overcoats tight around them as they shuffled through the snow.

Outside, Bill eyed a group of boys throwing snowballs at the passing people and busses. As they came within throwing distance he scooped up some snow and packed it into a tight snowball and handed it to John who grinned as he sized up the boys. Bill made another for himself and both tossed them at the boys, hitting two of them, as both men took off as fast as they could. The boys let out a shout and all started flinging snowballs at the unexpected and fleeing antagonists. Bill caught one in the middle of his back before they were out of range and the boys let out a victory cry.

Shaking the snow off and laughing at their child-like behavior, the two men finally arrived at the gate to the club’s garden. Bill took the cold key from around his neck, unlocked and pushed the gate open through the mounting snow. He used the same key to unlock the big steel door that opened to the red brick walled staircase illuminated by the dancing yellow light of hissing gas lamps. They went up the stairs and opened the inner mahogany door to . . .

 

DATELINE: 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

Both stood and shook hands as they shook the snow off.

“Okay, John, shall I have lunch or dinner ready for you tomorrow?”

“Lunch. If I don’t have it by then, well, I better have something.”

“Okay,” said Bill as he removed his overcoat, “I’ll think on it too and, remember, anything we need, we get, so don’t worry about anything like that. Goodnight, good buddy.”

Matt looked puzzled at the wet gloves left on the table, shrugged his shoulders and gathered up Bill’s clothes as Bill took a long hot shower.

 

At ten minutes to twelve the next morning, Matt opened the door to Bill’s den. “Sir,” he said, “Mr. Brand is here. Shall I seat him?”

Bill got up from his computer desk, “Naw, thanks anyway, Matt. I’ll bring him up.” He went down the long spiral staircase and saw John on the main floor. “Hey buddy,” he called down, “c’mon up.”

John was all smiles as he took the stairs two at a time to meet Bill halfway.

“I think I have it!” he said with a triumphant air.

“Good “answered Bill, “let’s see if our ideas match up.”

They entered Bill’s den and sat on either side of the coffee table. Matt had set up meats and cheese with bread and rolls. A hot pot of coffee and another pitcher of hot chocolate was on the sideboard.

John made a sandwich as he spoke eagerly, “There’s only one way to handle this mission and that’s to go back and intercept her somehow before she reaches Howland Island.”

Bill nodded as he pushed some papers toward his colleague. “My thoughts exactly. We have some problems to overcome, but I think it can be done.”

John smiled and said, “Great minds think alike, Billy Boy.” He poured a cup of coffee and asked, “So, have you come to the same conclusion that this mission takes two people?”

Bill grinned as he answered, “Yep! Me and you.”

“Hah!” said John. He raised his right hand and both men slapped a high five.

“A first,” said Bill, “a first for us to travel on a mission together.”

“Will they let you go?” John asked. “I mean, they did say no dangerous trips for you.”

Bill shook his head. “This is too big. I bet they’ll let that silly rule slide on this one. Now, what do you figure we need?”

“Probably the same as you figured. An aircraft.”

Bill cut in, “Not just any aircraft, but a long-range aircraft because we can’t just land anywhere and get gas.”

“And, an aircraft that seats four,” added John. “Can they get us one?”

“They say they can get us anything we need to complete a mission, so, they better if they want this mission to succeed,” Bill said, picking up paper and a pencil. “I’ll make a wish list and text it up to Edmund.”

 

An hour later they agreed the list was complete, Bill ticked off the items needed for the mission, sat back and read the list out loud.

“One long-range aircraft that will not look out of place in the late-thirties. A modern navigation system.”

John nodded and lit the cigar Bill had offered him. Bill lit his, too, and said through a cloud of smoke, “I’m going to call Matt and go over the plan with him. I think we’re going to need him on this one.” He pressed a button on his desk and at once Matt answered and Bill asked him to come up.

Opening the door, the butler asked, “You rang, sir?”

“Yes, Matt. John and I are going out on a mission and we need a wheelman. How’d you like to drive a Mack truck for us in the late thirties?”

“If you wish, sir. I’ll be only too glad to assist you and Mr. Brand on your mission.”

“Good, Matt, you’re in. Now grab a seat and hear our plan.”

 

An hour later Bill sent a text message to Edmund Scott in 2066. It read:

“EDMUND, I BELIEVE WE HAVE COME UP WITH A PLAN TO STOP AMELIA EARHART FROM RETURNING WITHOUT HARMING HER IN ANY WAY. TO ACCOMPLISH THIS, WE NEED A FEW ITEMS.

FIRST, AN ULTRA LONG-RANGE AIRCRAFT WITH A FOUR-SEAT ARRANGEMENT.

SECOND, AN EASILY UNDERSTOOD NAVIGATION SYSTEM. I HAVE OTHER THINGS I’LL BE BRINGING FROM MY TIME.

I NEED YOUR ANSWER BEFORE PLANNING ANY FURTHER. PS. I’LL BE GOING ON THIS MISSION ALONG WITH JOHN BRAND. ALSO, MATT WILL BE JOINING US FOR A TIME.

REGARDS, BILL SCOTT, 1800 CLUB, 2011.”

After sending the message, Bill looked at the other two men and said, “Dinner’s on me, guys. What say we go to Paddy Diamonds in, oh, say 1865 or 1900?” He looked at John and Matt, but they said they had no preference.

“Okay, then,” Bill announced, as he tossed a coin, “heads, 1865; tails, 1900.” He flipped the coin and the three dressed in clothes of 1865 and went to dinner.

 

DATELINE: JUNE 29, 1937 PLACE: PORT DARWIN, AUSTRALIA

It was 6:15 a.m. and the silver, twin-engine aircraft stood at the end of the long runway, straining at the brakes as Amelia Earhart ran up the engines in a power check.

The props sent dirt and debris flying back in its wash and the few people who watched history in the making silently wished them good luck. The flight before the pilot and her navigator was a long one, more than 1,200 miles over open water dotted only by a few small islands.

Their destination was Lae, New Guinea, and at 6:29 a.m., satisfied that all was well with the Lockheed Electra, the brakes were released and the take-off roll started.

Finally, the fuel-laden aircraft lifted into the cool morning air and disappeared into the haze for the seven-hour-and-forty-three-minute trip.

 

DATELINE: 1865 PLACE: DIAMONDS BAR & GRILL, NEW YORK CITY

The summer evening was warm, and over beers and turkey sandwiches the three time travelers worked on tightening the plan. As they finished, Paddy Diamond sauntered over carrying a large bowl.

“Pig’s knuckles,” he said with a big grin, “just got these in today, gents. Fresh as can be. Thought I’d give a taste to a few good steady customers.” The three grabbed one each and thanked him.

“So, Matt,” said Bill, “if it all goes as I plan, you’ll be driving a mid-thirties, Mack flatbed truck to and from Mitchell Field on Long Island. Up to it?”

Matt nodded and answered, “Yes sir, I have my New York State driver’s license for many-sized vehicles from almost any driving period. The Mack truck was one of my favorites. A large fellow with a lot of gears.”

“Excellent,” Bill said. “Guess we should go back while we wait for a text message from upline.”

The three got up from the wooden booth, paid Paddy and left the bar. They walked the few blocks back to the garden of The 1800 Club and a few minutes later entered the den in 2011.

 

DATELINE: 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

Mat offered to bring Bill and John some brandy and cigars as they waited to hear from Edmund Scott. He left the room just as the communicator on Bill’s desk vibrated and a message came through.

“GOOD NEWS BILL. AS YOU KNOW THE HISTORY TRACKING COUNCIL HAS CLOSE TIES WITH MANY SOURCES FOR ITEMS NEEDED FOR OUR VARIOUS MISSIONS.

IN THAT VEIN WE HAVE PROCURED A 2047 VISIONAIRE FROM THE LOCKHEED/SUKHOI CORPORATION FOR YOUR MISSION.

THE VISIONAIRE IS A TWIN-ENGINE (ELECTRIC DRIVE, PROPELLER) ULTRA LONG-RANGE EXECUTIVE AIRCRAFT THAT SEATS FOUR BESIDES THE PILOT AND CO-PILOT AND IS A HIGH-ALTITUTE, SOLAR-POWERED AIRCRAFT.

BECAUSE IT IS SOLAR-POWERED, IT HAS AN ALMOST UNLIMITED RANGE AND BEST OF ALL CAN BE BROKEN DOWN INTO UNITS SMALL ENOUGH TO FIT THROUGH THE ENTRY PORT (THE CLUB’S DOOR) INTO WHATEVER TIME YOU NEED IT TO BE IN.

IT FITS TOGETHER WITH NO TOOLS. JUST INSERT ITS NUMBERED PARTS INTO EACH OTHER AND THEY LOCK IN PLACE. I’M TOLD THAT NO PART IS HEAVIER THAN 100 POUNDS AND CAN BE BROKEN DOWN IN THE SAME FASHION.

THE BIGGEST ASSET OF THIS AIRCRAFT IS THAT A PILOT CAN SELECT ANY TWIN-ENGINE AIRCRAFT THAT HE IS FAMILIAR WITH, ENTER IT INTO THE VISIONAIRE’S COMPUTER AND THE VISIONAIRE WILL FLY EXACTLY THE SAME WAY AS THE ONE INPUTTED.

WE ALSO HAVE FROM THE SPERRY COMPANY, AN UP-TO-DATE NAVIGATION SYSTEM THAT NEEDS ONLY TO BE TYPED INTO THE COMPUTER, JUST ENTER THE STARTING POINT AND THE DESTINATION TO TAKE THE AIRCRAFT ANYWHERE YOU WANT TO GO AUTOMATICALLY.

OUR COUNCIL WILL HAVE THE AIRCRAFT READY WHEN YOU NEED IT. REGARDS FROM THE COUNCIL, EDMUND. PS. THEY NEVER MENTIONED ANYTHING ABOUT YOU GOING ON THE MISSION.”

Matt came back into the room with the brandy and cigars as Bill said, “Well, guys, looks like the plan is taking shape.”

“Sir,” asked Matt as he lit the three cigars, “when do we leave?”

Bill looked at John and asked, “Can you get the location and time that we must be at in order to intercept Earhart’s aircraft?”

John blew out a smoke ring, nodded and answered, “By tomorrow morning I should have all the information we need. I’d guess we could leave anytime after that. And as for flying the aircraft, I’ll just program it to fly like a Twin Beech, which I fly all the time.”

“Fine.” Bill looked at Matt and said, “We’ll need a few outfits of the 1937 period, and money too.”

Matt nodded as he took notes.

Bill continued, “I’ll be setting up my laptop tonight and burning a bunch of CDs for when we have to prove to Earhart that we are from another time. I’ll also contact Edmund about getting the aircraft into the garden in 1937 at a date we’ll tell him.”

He looked at the other time travelers and said, “Then, I guess that’s it until tomorrow.” They shook hands and called it a night.

 

DATELINE: JUNE 1937 PLACE: LAE, NEW GUINEA

It was 1:10 p.m. and the sun was hot. The man in a white suit removed his pith helmet and wiped his forehead as he looked out over the runway. He kicked a clump of dry dirt as he paced around and waited.

Suddenly he stopped and looked out over the hazy horizon. Sunlight glinted off a speck of aluminum in the blue sky. An aircraft! He shaded his eyes as he yelled to another man, who held a camera, “It’s her! She’s here! Amelia Earhart is here!”

Both men suddenly realized they were standing on the grass and packed dirt runway and trotted to the side, as the engines became audible.

And then, there it was. The silver Lockheed Electra lowering its landing gear and flaps as it swooped down and touched the earth at 1:14 p.m., after a seven-hour-and-forty-three-minute trip.

The tail number boldly proclaimed NR16020. Amelia Earhart’s aircraft had landed.

 

DATELINE: 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

At ten a.m. on the morning of departure, Bill, John and Matt were enjoying a cup of coffee. Matt had three valises packed, one for each of them. Bill took a second cup and said, “Coffee is especially good this morning, Matt. New brand?”

“Yes sir,” answered Matt, smiling, “I took the liberty of going back to 1901 this morning and buying freshly ground coffee beans from a little café in Brooklyn, Stephen’s Coffee Shoppe. It’s known by few people and I’m one of them.”

“John,” Bill queried, “did you find the right time and place to intercept her?”

“Yep,” answered John, taking a notepad from his jacket’s inside pocket. “We have to be at 180 degrees Longitude, right on the Equator. We have a small timeframe of about ten minutes, from 7:40 p.m. until 7:50 p.m. in the early evening. She was lost and transmitting during that time, and we want to be able to get a visual of her aircraft to lead her away from Howland Island.”

“And over to Baker Island,” said Bill, picking up the review of the plan, “fifty miles away from Howland. Hope she has enough gas for the detour.”

“Now,” said John, as he sat forward, “the trip is just under 7,000 miles from New York to Howland Island. Our aircraft cruises at 250 miles-per-hour. To get there at 7 p.m. on July 2, we have to leave New York at 3 p.m. on July 1, 1937. However, I suggest we leave earlier, maybe 1 p.m. to compensate for winds. We can circle the area if we get there early.”

“Okay,” said Bill, “I’m going to ask Edmund how they’ll handle getting the aircraft into the garden.”

He took out his communicator and typed the message to his future grandson up in 2066, then sat back and lit a cigar while waiting for the answer. Twenty minutes later the answer came back.

“BILL, OUR TECHNICANS SAY THE AIRCRAFT CAN BE BOXED AND STACKED IN THE GARDEN ANYTIME YOU NEED.

UNFORTUNATELY, AS YOU KNOW BECAUSE OF BREATHING PROBLEMS, THEY CANNOT STAY LONG ENOUGH TO ASSEMBLE IT. BUT THEY SAY IT’S EASY TO DO. JUST FOLLOW THE ASSEMBLY INSTRUCTIONS. IT SNAPS TOGETHER AND WILL BE PACKAGED TO MAKE IT TRANSPORTABLE.

I’M ATTACHING SCHEMATIC DRAWINGS TO THIS MESSAGE FOR YOU TO LOOK AT.

REGARDS, AND BEST OF LUCK FROM THE GROUP. EDMUND.”

Bill typed back, “THANK YOU, EDMUND. WE WILL NEED THE AIRCRAFT TODAY. PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHEN IT IS READY. REGARDS, BILL.”

He turned to Matt and said, “When you’re set, I need you to rent or buy the flatbed Mack truck, take a ride out to Mitchell Field and rent an empty hangar. Then we’ll load the truck with the aircraft parts and assemble them inside the hangar. Good with you?”

Matt picked up his valise and answered, “I’ll change and be back in a moment, sir.” He went out the door as Bill and John looked at the plans of the aircraft.

Matt returned in a couple of minutes dressed in bib-type brown coveralls, blue denim shirt, a light leather jacket and work boots. On his head was a flat workman’s cap.

“Well, sir,” he asked modeling his outfit, “what do you think?”

Bill gave him a thumb’s up and answered, “Way to go, Matt, see you in the garden.”

Matt went out to 1937 as Bill and John finished the planning.

 

An hour later Bill received another text message from Edmund.

“THE AIRCRAFT IS IN THE GARDEN STACKED AGAINST THE BACK WALL. THE DATE IS AS YOU SPECIFIED, JUNE 29, 1937. NEED ANYTHING ELSE, JUST ASK. EDMUND.”

“Let’s get dressed and go downstairs,” Bill said to John.

Ten minutes later the two met back in the den. Both were dressed in weathered leather jackets worn over light-colored shirts and dark-blue pants with low-cut brown shoes. Together they walked to the door that would take them to their mission.

 

DATELINE: JUNE 29, 1937 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

In a moment they had opened the door to June 29, 1937 at 11:30 a.m. Once in the garden Bill spotted various-shaped boxes stacked against the back wall. Both men were examining them when the big Mack truck pulled up in front of the garden gate with Matt at the wheel.

He turned the engine off bringing quiet back to the neighborhood as Bill opened the gate for him.

“Any problems?” he asked Matt.

Matt shook his head no, and answered, “Sir, the Mack is a powerful truck, indeed, but it truly handles like a Mack truck.”

“Hey,” said John walking toward the truck, “I’ve got to get a good look at this baby.” He bent over by the rear wheel and pointed, “Look! It has a chain-drive. No drive shaft. And,” he said kicking the tire, “the wheels are solid rubber.”

He turned back to Matt and asked, “How’s your back? The ride must be horrendous!”

Matt gave an exaggerated moan and answered, “Not so much my back, sir, my left leg. The clutch is extremely hard to depress and one has to have arms of steel to shift this beast into gear.”

Bill dropped the truck’s rear gate and they started loading the boxes as Matt continued his story.

“I rented a small hangar at the end of the field, sir. It is out of the way and the gentleman settled for a nice price. I also told him that my employer would be stopping by today with some experimental aircraft parts to do some studies. The gentleman seemed uninterested, so I do feel that our coming and going shan’t be watched much.”

Bill nodded as he lifted a box. “Good going, Matt. We don’t need anyone snooping around.”

 

After an hour, the truck was loaded and Edmund was right, no piece weighed more than 100 pounds. The last piece was a small box labeled, “Sperry Navigation / FRAGILE.”

Bill pointed to it and said, “According to Edmund, this is the latest thing in navigation.” He paused, feeling the lightness of it. “And I hope it works as advertised because I’m no navigator.”

“Right,” said John, as he tied down the canvas tarp over the boxes, “and we sure don’t want to be the blind leading the blind all over the Pacific Ocean.”

“No, said Bill, locking the truck’s rear gate, “we sure don’t.”

Thirty minutes later, at 7:30 p.m., Bill and John climbed up into the spacious cab as Matt started the truck up. He put it in gear with a grind and with a lurch they were off to Mitchell Field, Long Island.

 

It was a warm evening and Matt had the canvas roof of the cab rolled back, exposing the stars. Bill noticed a very different Matt from the demure Matt of The 1800 Club. In place of the quiet servant and efficient housekeeper, was a man with a cigar clenched between his teeth, workman’s hat on backward and a grin from ear-to-ear as he stomped the clutch and shifted the monster truck effortlessly.

You never know, Bill thought with a grin, you just never know.

 

It was 9:30 p.m. by the time they drove over the grass field and pulled up in front of the hangar Matt had rented. Bill and John hopped out and opened the hangar’s double doors, allowing Matt to drive the truck through. They closed the doors and switched on the overhead lights. All three men started emptying the load inside the cavernous, empty hangar.

Unloading the flatbed truck went quickly and Matt provided hot coffee and sandwiches from somewhere. Bill tacked the schematic Edmund had provided, up on the wooden wall and they started assembling the airplane according to the plans.

Bill took a two-foot section with a rounded edge on one side marked ‘A’ and easily inserted it into another two-foot section marked ‘B.’ “So far, so good,” he said as it clicked and locked in place.

 

It took them eight hours to assemble the aircraft, and finally the three men stood back and admired their handiwork. John wiped the photoelectric cells that covered the upper wings. They were there to catch the sunlight and convert it into electric power for the engines.

“Wow!” he said. “We did it, guys. We really built an airplane.”

“Boy,” answered Bill, looking at the hangar lights reflecting off the smooth plastic skin painted a sky blue with yellow trim on the wingtips and tail, “we really did. We built an airplane. Those guys up in ’66 sure know what they’re doing.”

“Just hope it flies as advertised,” said John, as he did a walk around of the aircraft he was expected to fly 7,000 miles one way—on the first try.

The interior was designed as an executive aircraft with rolled and pleated leather throughout and mahogany seat sides and overhead compartments. It was air-conditioned, and the lavatory at the aircraft’s rear was the latest in washroom comfort. The four seats reclined to full-length beds.

They stocked the plane with provisions Matt had bought in a local deli, mostly sandwiches, soda and coffee. They placed the food in the spacious refrigerator beneath the two seats on the left-hand side.

John got into the rather sparse cockpit and went over the instruments. “Bill,” he asked, “will you hand me the flight instructions?” Bill passed a thin book to him and John read the few pages, put it down and said, looking at what was before him, “They sure do make it seem easy.”

He looked at the flat-screen computer and continued to read the instructions out loud, more to himself than anyone else, “Type in the type of aircraft you would like the Visionaire to emulate.” He typed in ‘Twin Beech D18S, an aircraft he was familiar with, and then looked back at the computer screen that read, “Enter starting point and destination.” He typed; Mitchell Field, New York, two zero degrees, to Equator, by 180 degrees Longitude. The computer quickly made the computations, followed by the inputted information displayed on its’ screen;

FLIGHT PLAN: ENTERED AND STORED.

TIME TO DESTINATION: APPROXIMATELY THIRTY HOURS.

AIRCRAFT SELECTED: TWIN BEECH D18S.

RANGE AVAILABLE WITH FULL CHARGE: 22,607 MILES.

AIRCRAFT ON AUTOPILOT AND READY FOR FLIGHT.

John looked at Bill and said with a shrug, “Guess, it’s all set to go. All we have to do is point her into the wind and start her up.”

Bill nodded, “We have to wait until 1 p.m. to meet the timetable.” He looked at his watch and said, “It’s 6 a.m. right now, so let’s get some rest.”

Matt reclined three seats turning them into comfortable beds.

 

The three men slept in the comfortable interior cabin of the aircraft and were awakened by Bill’s wristwatch alarm. They washed up in the hangar’s small restroom, and then gathered in front of the aircraft sipping hot coffee.

“Well, guys.” Bill said with a shrug, “I guess we open the doors and roll her out.”

They slid back the tin double doors and the mid-day sun poured in. John entered the aircraft and settled into the pilot’s seat as Bill and Matt stood by each wingtip to guide him out.

“Here goes,” said John to himself, as he pressed the red circle on the computer’s face. A deep rumble came from within the left engine and the big propeller started to turn. It smoothed out and the right engine started up. Soon both engines were purring in a low, synchronized sound of power. John pushed the throttle forward a notch and the aircraft quickly started rolling as Bill and Matt walked the wingtips clear of the doors.

“Wow!” said John, “she taxies beautifully.” He applied the right brake to turn the aircraft slightly and then he was out in the early afternoon sunlight slowly rolling along. The grass behind the aircraft was almost flattened by the blast of air from the propellers.

Finally, he was at the edge of the long runway. Bill shook hands with Matt, and then jumped in, closing the door behind him.

“How does she feel, John?”

“As good as my Twin Beech, but much quieter. When Edmund said it’d handle like any plane I wanted, he meant it! I feel as though I have hundreds of hours in this baby already.”

Bill nodded and looked at his watch as he tightened his seatbelt. “One o’clock. Right on time.”

A crackle came from an aperture next to the computer screen, followed by the control tower asking,

“Twin-engine aircraft, are you taking off?”

Bill pressed a button marked “transmit” and said, “Twin-engine aircraft to tower, that’s a roger. I’ll be outbound to New Jersey and most probably will return in a day or so. Am I cleared for takeoff?”

“Hold one moment, twin engine,” came the response.

Bill looked at John and said, “Oh boy, wonder if there’s a problem?”

The crackling came back, followed by, “Twin-engine aircraft, you are cleared for takeoff. Be advised that there are storm clouds up to 20,000 feet forming over central New Jersey. Have a safe trip, and she’s a beauty. Good luck.”

Both men looked at each other and grinned. “Here we go, buddy,” said John as he lowered the flaps and advanced the throttles.

The twin engines spun up to full power and she rolled forward as he released the brakes. She used just half of the runway and lifted off into the blue sky.

John pulled back slightly on the controls and she climbed as he shook his head. “Beautiful! Just beautiful. She climbs like a homesick angel.” He pulled up the gear and flaps.

Back on the ground Matt shut off the lights and locked up the hangar. He lit a cigar, hopped back up into the truck and roared off back to New York City and The 1800 Club of 2011.

 

Five hours into the flight, New Orleans glided past beneath their wings. They flew at 35,000 feet, which was higher than anything in the military’s inventory at the time. The electric engines hummed rather than roared and the cabin was extremely quiet.

“How are you feeling, John?” asked Bill.

“No sweat, partner. This plane flies itself.” He looked at Bill sitting in the co-pilot’s seat. “Bill, this is the best. The automatic pilot will take us all the way to the spot I plotted in the computer. From there, I just reset it to where we want to end up. It’s a snap. But, I’ll take a sandwich.”

“You got it buddy.” Bill got out of the seat and went through the small door leading to the rear interior cabin.

Matt had stowed enough food and drinks for four, along with Bill’s laptop, CDs and other gear. In one of the overhead compartments he got two sandwiches and saw that Matt had provided six thermoses of Starbucks coffee and insulated mugs. Leave it to Matt, he thought, as he poured the coffee.

He went forward and passed a sandwich and coffee to John and said, as he looked at his watch, “After you eat, I’ll sit in and you can go back and take a nap. At this altitude, we can’t bump into anything and we have twenty-five hours to go and want to be fresh when we get there. Okay with you?”

John nodded as he took a bite of his tuna salad on rye bread. “Yep, as much as I love flying, it can make you drowsy seeing the same blue sky and white clouds.”

He finished and went to the still reclined, seat and was quickly asleep while Bill sat up front.

 

The trip was uneventful with both men trading off taking naps and sitting at the automated controls. They spotted a few aircraft, all at a much lower altitude.

Later, while both men were in the cockpit, a light hum came through the radio aperture as Matt checked up on them.

“Club to High Flight, come in.”

Bill was at the controls at the time and responded; “High Flight to Club, how’s it going, good buddy? Over.”

“Matt here. All’s fine here, how’s it going there? Over.”

“All’s green on the dashboard. I suppose that means it’s going as planned. Over.”

“Sir, I popped back to thirty-seven, if you get my drift, and a dispatch came over the wire that Miss E. had a problem at Darwin with some of her navigation equipment. Over.”

John turned to Bill, nodded and said, “That’s right, I remember reading that she had some malfunctions and some of her nav system was iffy at times.”

Bill went back to the radio, “Thanks, Matt, keep us informed. Over.”

“Right-o boss, will do. Over and out.”

 

The clock on the control panel said they were eighteen hours into the flight. Bill woke from a nap, washed up and used the electric shaver they had brought with them. He put his head into the cockpit and asked, “Hey, John, coffee or nap?”

“Coffee,” he replied, looking at his watch, “It’s 7 a.m., July second. We’re at hour eighteen. I’ll nap in a bit. I’ve been watching small meteor showers over the Pacific. Beautiful!”

Bill took the co-pilot’s seat and sipped his coffee while they both watched the celestial show, accompanied by the soft drone of their engines.

 

DATELINE: 10 A.M., JULY 2, 1937 PLACE: LAE, NEW GUINEA

A group of people had gathered at the runway, many with cameras and one man with a motion-picture camera, which would provide the last movie of her aircraft taking off. The hard-packed dirt runway was bumpy in spots, mostly at the ends where clumps of uncut grass and weeds grew. The crowd watched as the aircraft waddled under her load of fuel to the end of the runway in preparation of taking off.

The tail wheel showed the weight she carried looking as if it needed air, and when the aircraft turned into the wind, the low belly seemed to brush a slight rise in the turf.

Amelia ran up her engines once again for the power check. When all seemed good-to-go, she released the brakes and the Lockheed slowly trundled forward. At about the halfway point in the takeoff, the tail came up off the ground and a puff of dust was seen trailing the aircraft as if something was being dragged along. Then the aircraft lifted off on its way to Howland Island over 2,500 miles distant. Unknown to the pilot and navigator, their radio antenna, which ran along the aircraft’s belly, was wrenched off by the small tuft of grass during the takeoff and now flapped in the breeze behind them.

 

DATELINE: 10 A.M., JULY 2, 1937 PLACE: VISIONAIRE OVER THE PACIFIC OCEAN

Twenty-one hours into the trip, Bill and John sat in the cockpit smoking cigars and sipping coffee, when the radio squawked to life again.

“Club to High Flight, time check: 10 a.m. your time. Miss E. should be taking off from Lae on her final leg. Over.”

Bill answered by depressing the transmit button. “High Flight to Club. Roger that loud and clear, time check: 10 a.m. our time and Miss E. has lifted off from Lae. Over.”

“Matt to High Flight. Roger again. Is all going fine up there? Over.”

“High Flight here. All’s going as advertised. How’s it going on your end? Over.”

“Matt here. The gentleman from tower wanted to know what type of aircraft we have. He thought it to be very quiet. Told him it’s an experimental, and after it’s revealed his airport would be on everyone’s lips. Went away a happy fellow. Damned white lie, of course, but the mission shall take priority. Over.”

Both Bill and John laughed at this and Bill said, “High Flight back to you Matt. Way to go. We’ll keep you posted. Over and out.”

 

John was napping in the rear when Bill nudged him awake. He looked up and saw Bill’s face filled with concern.

“What’s up?” He asked, suddenly alert as he climbed out of the comfortable leather seat.

“It’s her! It’s Amelia Earhart! She’s on the radio looking for a bearing to the Navy ship that’s supposed to guide her to Howland Island.”

John shook his head as he got back in the pilot’s seat.

“I know we expected to hear her,” Bill said, “but it just seems so eerie. You know what I mean?”

John nodded in acknowledgment.

Bill said in a low tone of voice, “Even though we expected it, it always brings a chill to hear someone from the past become someone you can hear and see in the flesh.”

Static came from the radio and Bill held up his hand to stop further conversation as they listened.

“US Coast Guard Cutter, USS Itasca to Lockheed NR16020 from Lae, New Guinea. We are transmitting a steady radio beam for you to home in on. We are stationed off Howland Island. Please acknowledge message.”

Bill looked at John as he saw that his radio-directional device showed him on course for Howland Island, but from the opposite direction of Earhart. “Looks like the signal they’re sending out is pretty powerful.”

Instinctively he tapped the radio receiver as though to clear it and hear Amelia’s acknowledgment.

“She doesn’t acknowledge.”

“No,” John answered, “the theory is that she can’t hear the Navy ship, Itasca. They think she lost her antenna, which is attached to the belly of her aircraft, when it took off from Lae, New Guinea. There’s an old film that shows the aircraft trailing a puff of dust as it went down the dry grass and dirt runway. The thought is that the belly antenna wire got snagged on a mound of dirt and weeds as she taxied out to take off. The antenna broke off before they took off and that’s what was being dragged behind the aircraft. She probably didn’t know it was gone for hours. ”

“The antenna was for voice communications only?” asked Bill.

“Yes,” answered John, “she and Fred Noonan didn’t know Morse code so they relied solely on voice communications. Losing the antenna meant they lost the only means they had of receiving radio transmissions from the Itasca.”

There was silence for a while, then a transmission from the Itasca; “US Coast Guard Cutter, USS Itasca to Lockheed NR16020 from New Guinea. We are still transmitting a steady radio beam for you to home in on. We are cruising off Howland Island. Please acknowledge message. Over.”

Still no answer.

The Visionaire flew steady even as it began raining and the wind kicked up.

John shook his head and with a smile said, “This aircraft is amazing. She seems to sense wind gusts and compensates for them instantly. I love her!”

Once again the radio squawked and the cabin was filled with Amelia Earhart’s voice.

“Lockheed NR16020 to any ship. Am at 2,000 feet and in rainsqualls. Heading is for Howland Island. Any ship near Howland, please send steady radio transmission on band 7,500 kilocycles. Over.”

“How far are we from her, Bill?”

“She’s not on our radar yet and it has a range of about 150 miles.”

Once again the Coast Guard ship transmitted; “US Coast Guard Cutter, USS Itasca to Lockheed NR16020. Transmitting a steady radio beam for you as requested on band 7,500 kilocycles. We are steaming off Howland Island. Please acknowledge message.”

Bill pointed to a small blip starting to show on the radar screen about 150 miles away, but bearing off course to the right. “There! There she is. She’s lost,” he said, “and can’t receive the homing beam.”

Again the radio came to life. This time it was Earhart. “We must be on you, but we cannot see you. Gas is running low . . . been unable to reach you by radio . . . we are flying at 1,000 feet.”

“In response to this message,” John said, “the Itasca started pouring out black smoke from its smokestack to give her a visual, but she never saw it. Now we have to intercept her to ensure that she doesn’t somehow contact the ship and make it back to the States.”

Sixteen minutes later the radio transmitted Amelia Earhart’s voice again, “We are on the line position 157-337. We are running north and south. We are listening on 6,210 kilocycles.”

John looked at Bill and said with a somber tone in his voice, “That’s the last message that was ever heard from her. Now we have to get her attention.”

He applied more throttle and banked right to catch her. The Visionaire easily accelerated to 400 miles an hour, more than twice as fast as her Lockheed, and in a minute they had her in visual contact.

Earhart couldn’t see them as they approached from behind and John turned to Bill and said, “Ready to get her attention?”

Bill nodded and answered, “Yep! Let’s go, Johnny.”

Bill throttled back the Visionaire as he was quickly overtaking the Lockheed and started flashing his wing lights.

Inside the bouncing Lockheed aircraft, Earhart picked up the mike to send out another voice communication and said to Fred Noonan seated in the co-pilot’s seat, “It has to be the wind, Fred. It has us off course, but I’m not sure how much. And why don’t they answer us? Can’t they hear us?” She shook her head and glanced over at Noonan as he looked at his maps.

She quickly glanced out and down to see wisps of fog and gray clouds flit by, and beneath them an angry, white-capped ocean. The rain beat steadily on the windshield and aluminum body giving a sound of someone continuously beating on a steel drum. She lifted the nose up a bit as she fingered the mike button.

“Wait!” Noonan shouted as he pointed out the pilot’s side window, “Look! A plane. Way out here, a plane.”

She quickly banked the Lockheed down and to the right, away from the other aircraft. “Was it a Japanese fighter?” she shouted.

Noonan shook his head, “I . . . I . . . I don’t think so. It . . . it didn’t look like any type of aircraft that I know. It looked like . . . like a . . . I don’t know . . . sort of like a twin-engine Lockheed, but the engines seemed small, much smaller than usual. Look!” he said as he pointed out her window once more. “There it is again. They’re following us.”

They both stared as she leveled off the Lockheed above the waves and watched as the strange aircraft did the same maneuver and ended up right next to them.

“You’re right Fred, it doesn’t look like any Japanese aircraft I’ve ever seen,” she said, as she gingerly lifted the nose for the safer, higher altitude.

The cabin light of the strange aircraft showed two men, the one in the co-pilot’s seat waving at them.

“What do we do?” she asked, more to herself.

Fred grasped a handhold as the aircraft bounced in the storm and answered, “I think they want us to follow them.”

She shrugged her shoulders and transmitted.

Inside the Visionaire, Bill and John heard, “Lockheed to twin-engine aircraft. Can you give me a heading to Howland Island? Over.”

Bill held his headset up to the Visionaire’s window and pointed to it, as he shook his head no.

“We’ve lost our communications somehow, Amelia,” Noonan responded. “They want us to follow them,” he said as the Visionaire slid in front of them and started a gentle climb away from the roiling ocean.

Bill slid his aircraft to the side for a glimpse of her aircraft. “Is she following?”

“Yep!” John said, “She’s following like there’s no tomorrow.”

Bill set a course into the computer to Baker Island, fifty-six miles away from Howland Island.

Amelia looked at her compass and said, “They’re going due south. Sure hope they know what they’re doing.”

“At this point I hope that wherever they’re taking us is close by. We’re low on fuel,” answered the navigator as he folded his maps.

She nodded as she retarded her throttles slightly. “I think they know that. They just slowed down and I can lean out the fuel to stretch it longer.” She ran her fingers through her short brown hair and looked concerned as she continued, “Boy, Fred. That’s a neat airplane, wonder who they are?”

John pointed to the radar screen again and said, “That blip is the Itasca. They’re still sending messages to Amelia.”

Bill asked, “What if she says she’s following an aircraft? What happens then?”

John shrugged his shoulders and answered, “They’ll be perplexed because they don’t know of another aircraft in the area, and they don’t have radar to spot us. Besides, what can they say? And she can’t hear them anyway. Her antenna’s missing.” He shook his head. “No, she’s going to follow us wherever we take her, and,” he pointed to another blip on the screen, “that’s where we’re taking her. Baker Island. It’s a long, thin strip of grass with a few trees and a cliff at one end. Perfect landing place for our needs.”

Fred Noonan watched as the strange aircraft did a slow right bank and started losing altitude. He watched Amelia duplicate every move it made. Suddenly the right engine coughed, sputtered and then smoothed out again. The fuel gauge showed almost empty.

“Looks like they are setting up for a landing,” she said, as Bill lowered the Visionaire’s flaps to slow them even more.

“Flaps down,” she said to herself as she lowered hers too.

“There,” Noonan said, as he pointed to a spit of land that suddenly appeared out of the fog, “That’s Howland Island. We made it.”

“Looks kind of small from here,” she answered, as the lead aircraft lowered its landing gear and started its final approach.

Noonan tightened his seat belt and at the same time tried to get closer to the windshield. “Where are the facilities?” he asked, wiping the fogged window. “I don’t even see a runway. Do you?”

Her knuckles went white as she tightened her grip on the control wheel as wind gusts threatened to take her off the course the strange aircraft had them on.

“No, I don’t see a runway either, but they’re definitely on final and we’re low on gas so I’m committed to this landing.” She squinted in the failing light and continued, “Sure hope there’s enough space for two of us down there.” She glanced quickly at Noonan and said, “Give me gear down.”

The Lockheed’s landing gear came down and locked for the landing.

John held his aircraft for a touchdown right at the edge of the grassed area that he had picked as a landing field. Damn! Hope she’s as good as they say, he thought as he looked at the small landing area, because it’s going to be tight down there.

The Visionaire leveled itself off without guidance from John and the computer pulled the nose up at the right time for a three-point landing. John looked at Bill and said, “This aircraft is foolproof! What a joy!” He let it taxi out to the end of the grass strip of land to give Amelia’s aircraft enough landing room. At the end of the strip, he applied the brakes and pulled off to the side to watch her do a perfect three-point landing.

“Boy,” said John, “great landing, especially when she doesn’t have a computer to do it for her.”

Amelia’s wheels hit the bumpy strip and she quickly pressed on the brakes. They squeaked in protest of the short section of grassy land and finally came to a stop not ten feet from the edge of the cliff.

For a few minutes, both aircraft sat at the end of the grass runway with idling engines. Finally, John shut his engines off and Earhart followed suit.

Bill turned to John as they got out of their seats and said, “Come on, John, let’s go meet history.”

They opened the door, lowered the ladder on the left side of the aircraft and climbed down into the dark night filled with a wind driven rain.

As they walked the few steps toward the Lockheed, its door also opened and out hopped Amelia Earhart followed by Fred Noonan.

“Hello! I’m Amelia Earhart,” she said as she put a hand over her eyes to shield the rain. “What island is this?”

Bill and John were smiling, as much to assure them of their good intentions, as being excited about meeting the famous aviatrix and her navigator.

“Baker Island,” answered Bill, putting his collar up against the now heavier rain. “It’s Baker Island.”

“Which way is Howland?”

John pointed north and said, “A little more than fifty miles north of here.”

He put his hand out and said, “I’m Bill Scott and this is John Brand.”

Shaking hands all around, she answered, “I’m Amelia Earhart and this is . . . ”

“Fred Noonan,” said John, “we know. In fact we know all about you and your trip.”

“Yes,” she said, “it’s been in all the papers. So,” she said pointing to the aircraft, “are you Americans? And what type of aircraft is that? I don’t recognize it at all.”

Noonan shook his head. “Me neither, and I think we’ve both seen most.”

“It’s a Lockheed/Sukhoi Visionaire,” said Bill, “and it’s kind of an experimental aircraft, and yes, we’re Americans.”

“Lockheed you say?” she countered. “Funny, mine’s a Lockheed and I was assured mine was the latest in aviation technology. What types of engines are they? They sure look to be on the small side.”

John motioned to the aircraft and said, “Hey, why not talk inside and get out of the rain?”

All nodded in unison and briskly walked to the aircraft. John hopped up first to give Amelia a hand. Noonan followed her and then Bill who pulled the stairs up and closed the door. The noise of the howling wind ceased immediately.

“Wow!” whispered a visibly shocked Earhart as she took in the spacious and plush interior, leather seats, overhead lights and mahogany trim all around the aircraft.

Fred Noonan just stood there speechless at first, and then said, “Wow is right. Where was this built? Lockheed?”

Bill shook his head no. “Lockheed and Sukhoi, a Russian company they joined up with to build executive aircraft.”

“And pretty good, too,” she said. “I’m getting one as soon as we get back. I can’t believe how quiet it is in here, especially with that storm raging out there. Can I see the office?”

Bill looked puzzled and John offered, “She means the cockpit. An old term from the . . . well, an old term.”

Bill pointed to the cockpit and Amelia went forward through the small door.

“Oh my gosh! How do you fly this thing? Half the instruments are missing.” She looked around and continued with eyes wide, “Where’s the carburetor heat switch, the magnetos, the fuel gauge, the altimeter, the . . . the . . . well, so many missing switches and gauges? How do you navigate? I don’t even see a compass.”

John looked at Bill with an arched eyebrow.

Bill nodded, “Go ahead, John.”

John touched the flat glass screen and the computer became active. It showed a digital compass, speed indicator, power reserve and many other features. “We don’t have a carburetor, or fuel as you know it in this aircraft. The altimeter, as you can see, is in a digital format.” He pointed to the white numbers on the light blue screen. “The numbers; forty-seven, means that we are at forty-seven feet above sea level. That’s our altimeter. The screen is what we call a computer, and handles many functions that you do manually.”

Once again Earhart and Noonan just stood there shocked. Finally, she said, “No fuel ‘as we know it’? Then what powers the aircraft?”

“Well, actually, we have electric engines which are powered by sunlight.” Bill said.

“Sunlight? But it’s getting dark. What happens then?” she asked.

“There are storage batteries in the wings that hold a charge long enough to keep us going until daylight.”

Noonan suddenly went on the defensive as he clenched his fists. “Where are you from? What do you want with us?”

Earhart put her hand on his arm and said softly, “No, Fred, they saved us. I don’t think they mean us any harm.” She looked at Bill and asked, “Am I right, Mr. Scott?”

“Please, call me Bill, and yes, of course, you’re right. We mean you no harm whatsoever.” He gently ushered them out of the cockpit into the interior. “Here, sit and relax. You two have had a long trip and could use some rest.”

John poured himself a cup of coffee and said, “Would you like some?”

“Yes,” answered Earhart, “I’d love some. It sure does smell fresh. Did you just make it?”

“No, actually, it was made over a day ago,” said Bill.

“I’m not asking any more questions,” said Amelia, taking the mug passed to her, “you guys seem to have all the comforts of home right here.” She looked at Noonan. “Don’t they, Fred?”

Fred seemed to give in. He took a cup of coffee and after having a sip relaxed a bit. “Sorry, fellows. It’s been a long trip that didn’t look as though it was going to turn out well.”

Bill nodded and said, “Believe me, we understand.” He pointed to the rear and continued, “If either of you needs to freshen up, the washroom is in the rear.”

“I must look horrible,” said Amelia running her fingers through her hair as she got up. “I’d like to take you up on that.”

The rain pelted the aircraft and the wind picked up, as testified by the branches that flew past from the few trees on the small island. Occasional lightning flashes showed in the three porthole windows on each side of the Visionaire.

Fred ran his hand along the aircraft’s interior and asked, “How come it’s so quiet in here? I mean the rain and wind that beat on our Lockheed sounded like a train coming through a tunnel.”

“It’s well insulated.” Answered John. “The aircraft you flew in had no insulation because they wanted to save weight for longer range.

”The lavatory door at the rear of the aircraft opened and Amelia came out, her hair combed and clothes straightened. She sat in the plush seat and said, “Where do you two come from? This is no aircraft from Lockheed. Thank the Lord the powder room had a button marked ‘FLUSH’ or I’d still be in there trying to figure it all out. And,” she turned to Fred, “when I opened the door the light came on without me having to throw a switch. A gal could get used to this real easy.”

John reached into the small refrigerator and took out four sandwiches and asked, “Would you two like to join Bill and me in a light dinner?”

Noonan reluctantly took one and said with amazement, “It’s cold. Are you going to tell me you have a refrigerator small enough to fit inside this aircraft?”

John nodded and reached into an overhead bin and removed two pillows. “These are for the trip back, and,” he said, pointing to the overhead bin on the opposite side, “there are blankets in that one.”

“Once again, gentlemen,” Amelia said taking a sip of the black coffee, “where are you from?”

“New York,” Bill said.

“No,” she said shaking her head, “I’m knowledgeable enough to state flatly that electric-powered engines are not even close to being able to power an aircraft. And I noticed your landing lights. Too small for the amount of light they throw off.” She took a sip of her coffee then continued.

“Likewise with the flush system in the washroom. That was a type of vacuum flush, not a gravity-look-out-below type. This technology is just not available in today’s market. And please,” she put up her hand, “don’t tell me it’s experimental. My husband George Putnam is a very rich man and he would have most, if not all, of these contraptions you have. So, where do you come from I ask?”

John and Bill looked at each other and, sensing this was the right time to open up, Bill said, “It’s true we come from New York.” He paused, took a sip of his coffee and continued, “Amelia, you are known as a woman of vision, a woman who goes where others won’t. And you, Fred, are of the same breed. A navigator from Pan American Airways who guided huge flying boats safely across the Pacific. You both are a step out in front of all the others.” He paused for a second then continued, “Well,” he went on, sitting back and crossing his hands over his stomach as the wind rocked the aircraft, “I have a story to tell you, and some other gadgets to show you. Let’s start with, where are we from. As I said, New York, but it’s not where, that’s as important as when. You see we are from your future, 2011, to be exact.”

Both Amelia and Fred said nothing at first, then Fred ventured as he looked at both men as though they were from Mars, “You trying to tell us that you come from the year 2011?”

John nodded. “Wait before you say no. Let me show you some of the ‘gadgets’ we brought with us.” He removed the laptop from a compartment under the seat and set it up. When he powered it up Amelia and Fred’s eyes went wide.

Bill put in a CD and showed moving pictures of jet planes taking off and landing to let hundreds of people off; cars going at over 100 miles an hour at the Indianapolis Speedway; an Atlas rocket lifting off its launch pad; a submarine rising from the sea in a cascade of water; a helicopter taking twenty people on board and going straight up and flying away.

If the scenes weren’t enough to make them believers, the clarity of the color, high definition movies was.

Amelia sat there looking around the aircraft in a different way now. “My gosh! Two thousand eleven! This is fantastic. This is science fiction.”

“What happens to us now?” asked a sullen Noonan.

Bill put the laptop down and said, “Fred, that’s why we’re here. To rescue you.”

“From what?” he asked. “Running out of gas? Not reaching Howland Island? Ditching at sea?”

Bill shrugged his shoulders. “We don’t know. All we do know is that you two disappear and are never heard from again.”

Amelia looked at her watch and said, “Do you mean that by now we would be dead if you hadn’t come along?”

This time it was John who spoke. “We really don’t know. All we know is that you two go missing. And think of this; if we hadn’t met you and got you to a landing spot, you would have ditched into that cold stormy ocean by now, for lack of fuel.”

“True,” Noonan asked, “and although I’m happy you came along, my question is why? Why did you come to save us?”

Bill answered, “Because if you come back to the States, the world is plunged into a war that devastates the United States, Canada and Great Britain.”

“But . . . but, how could we be responsible for that happening?” Amelia asked sitting on the edge of her seat.

“If, by any chance,” Bill said, “you have pictures in your aircraft of Japanese ships at Truk Island, and you get them to Washington, it will start a chain of events that launches a world war with bad consequences for the U.S. and her allies.”

Amelia and Fred looked at each other and she said, as she looked out the window at her Lockheed rocking in the wind, “Why would you think we might have pictures of Truk Island?”

“Amelia,” Bill answered in a low voice, “we have the advantage of being from your future. To us it’s history.

She bit her lip as she asked, “So, you could have just left us alone and we’d probably ran out of gas and . . . and, well . . . you know.“

“Or,” Bill said, “just watched and see if you get lucky and find Howland Island and change history for millions of people, including your loved ones.”

Amelia and Fred sat silently for a minute, as Bill and John let them think things over.

“What happens to George?” Amelia asked in a low voice.

George Putnam?” asked Bill.

She nodded her head, “Yes, my George . . . if we don’t return.”

“There is another world war and he goes into it as a colonel in the U.S. Army and is a great contributor to the war effort. He lives a good long life, Amelia.”

She nodded again. “So, what do we have to do, to avert the events you told us about?”

Bill sat forward and said, “You have only one choice. We take you back and slip you into the United States. You both live under other names, never revealing your true identities at least until after the war is over in 1945. You can’t even let the government know you are back because the Japanese have informants who would report that you have returned. They would think that you have the photos and accelerate their plans for war. We’ll make sure you have the money needed to make you very comfortable for as long as you wish.”

Amelia had a faraway look in her eyes as she said softly, “To never fly again.” She hung her head.

Noonan looked at her and took her hand in his, “Easy, Amelia, there must be another way.” He looked away as he said also in a low voice, “I really was going to hang my hat up after this trip. I thought I’d open up a navigation school, maybe write a book of our experiences.”

“What do we do with my airplane?” she asked.

“Not sure,” said Bill.

“Tell me,” asked Amelia, “do they still have piston-engine aircraft in the time we are going?”

Noonan looked up with understanding at her question and half a smile on his face. “And, maybe they’ll need a good navigation school there.”

“What are you two thinking?” asked John as he saw a look of understanding between them.

Amelia sounded more upbeat as she proposed; “If you can travel in time in this aircraft, just drop us off in, oh let’s say, the 1960s. The war will be over and I can fly without ever revealing who I am and Fred can open his school.”

“Well,” said Bill, “it’s not like we travel through time in this aircraft, but dropping you off in the sixties, sounds okay to me. It does give you another option we didn’t think of.”

“So, where do you have to refuel to get back to the States?” Noonan asked.

“We don’t,” said John, “the aircraft is an ultra long-range type. But it’s a thirty-hour trip back to New York.”

“Ha!” laughed Fred, “that’s nothing to us.”

“Tell me,” Amelia asked, “do you have any moving pictures of the sixties on your gadget, Bill?”

He nodded, “Yes, I do. And let me tell you, the sixties were some great times. You’ll both love them. I suggest you live in New York City.”

“There’s still one thing we have to do before we leave,” said Bill. “We have to ditch your aircraft. We can’t let it be found.”

“How?” asked Amelia.

“First thing in the morning, remove any personal items you may have and then we start her up and roll her off the cliff into the water.” He looked at his watch and went on. “I know what I’m going to do now, wash up and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

All agreed and settled into the soft plush seats converted into beds. Bill dimmed the interior lights and John put on some easy sounding, 1960s CDs low. That night in the warm interior of the Visionaire, the four of them slept through the storm that ravaged the area.

 

The next morning, Amelia and Fred woke up to the smell of Starbucks coffee and bagels lightly toasted with cream cheese and jelly. All four of them ate with gusto as they planned their flight. The sun was up as Amelia and Fred went back to their Lockheed and removed some small items. She handed John a Kodak camera and asked him to take their picture by her famous aircraft.

After they stowed their possessions in the 2011 aircraft, the three men put two large stones in front of the wheels of Amelia’s Lockheed, and she climbed in and started her up. With the engines at a fast idle, she left the aircraft and they removed the stones. They watched as the little silver aircraft rolled forward over the edge of the cliff into the deep water forty-eight feet below. Bill and John walked back to their aircraft as Amelia and Fred stood by the cliff, each with their own thoughts.

The whine of an engine turning over alerted Amelia and her navigator that it was time to start a new adventure. Amelia naturally put her head through the cockpit door to watch the startup sequence.

Bill pressed the button that activated the radio and said, “High Flight to Club, come in please.”

Almost immediately it squawked back, “Club to High Flight, I read you loud and clear. How was the meeting? Over.”

Bill grinned as he answered, “The meeting went as planned and both are enjoying the Starbucks as we talk. Sorry, we didn’t get back to you earlier partner, just been very busy. Starting the trip home now and plan to keep to our schedule so, stay tuned. Over and out.”

She watched as John typed into the computer the coordinates for the return trip back to New York, then said, “Hold tight.” He advanced the throttles and they took off in a bright sunny afternoon.

 

Once at 35,000 feet, Bill entered into the interior. Amelia had the laptop and was watching some CDs he had set up for her. Noonan was napping and Bill said in a hushed voice, “Hey Amelia, go up front. John has a surprise for you.” He took the laptop as she went to the cabin door.

“Bill said you wanted to see me, John?”

John grinned and pointed to the co-pilot’s seat. “Grab a seat lady, I want to show you something.”

She sat and strapped herself in then asked, “All right, I’m seated, John, what do you want to show me?”

“First, let me tell you that this aircraft has the ability to perform exactly like any aircraft ever manufactured. Now, take the control stick and get the feel of a Twin Beech, the kind of aircraft I fly.”

She took the control stick and gently rocked the wings as she felt it out. She grinned over to him as she picked the nose up and added some power. The plane started a slight climb and she leveled off at 36,000 feet.

“Wow!” she said as she shook her head, ‘what power! I want one of these.”

Bill laughed as he asked, “Now, I’m going to program in a Lockheed Electra like you fly. What’s the dash number?”

“It was the Lockheed Electra 10E with the 550 horsepower engines.” she answered as he typed the information into the computer.

Amelia watched as he said, “hold on I’m going to press the engage button and we’ll be flying your favorite aircraft.” She held the control column as he depressed the engage button. The aviatrix’s eyes went wide as the aircraft went from the smooth flying aircraft from the future to the 1930s aircraft with its 1930s technology.

Although at first stunned at the change in the feel of the aircraft, she sat back and took on an air of confidence as she was suddenly at the controls of her familiar aircraft. She looked at him and said with a grin, “John, this is fantastic! I’m really looking forward to seeing some of the things in your time, but for now I’d like you to switch back to the modern aircraft, I’d like to get a feel for what’s in my future.”

 

The rest of the thirty-hour trip was flown at 35,000 feet and Amelia delighted in flying as much as possible. John gave her all the stick-time she wanted and marveled at how she handled it with the autopilot off. She’s a natural flyer, he thought as he watched her.

Fred Noonan kept the logbook and took readings and navigation fixes even though the computer was keeping the course. He and Amelia also spent time on the laptop going through the history CDs Bill had brought along.

They spotted the lights of New York at 10:15 p.m., and after a little pleading John gave in to Amelia and she made a low pass over the runway before turning into the wind and lowering the flaps and landing gear for a perfect three-point landing, at 11 p.m.

Using two flashlights, Matt guided them into the hangar and locked it behind them. He had a black four-door Ford sedan waiting for them and after introductions, drove Bill, John, Noonan and Amelia Earhart back to The 1800 Club, and by midnight they had entered the door taking them up to 2011.

 

DATELINE: 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

Amelia stood in Bill’s den as she looked around and asked, “This is 2011? Can we go out?”

“Tomorrow,” said Bill, “I plan on taking you to a few places. Right now it’s brandy, a good cigar and sleep. Of course, Amelia, the cigar is optional.”

Matt brought them all a steak dinner followed by brandy, and Amelia amused the men by enjoying a cigar with them. He put out sleepware and after the many hours of droning through the air, they were all asleep by 3 a.m.

 

At 10:15 the next morning, Matt tapped on Bill’s door and entered with a cup of coffee. Bill stretched and took the hot drink, “Thanks, Matt. Am I the first up?”

“No, sir,” he answered, “Ms. Earhart was up at eight. I showed her how to activate the shower and other facilities and she is now sitting in front of the big-screen TV with a cup of tea. I also provided her with a new outfit. Breakfast will be ready in thirty minutes.”

“Great!” said Bill, as he hopped out of bed and headed toward his private bathroom and shower. “I’ll be down before that.”

 

Twenty minutes later, Bill walked into the den to see Amelia wide-eyed in front of the TV set. “Good morning, Amelia,” he said sitting on the couch next to her.

“Good morning, Bill.” She pointed to the set and continued, “My gosh, this is fantastic! You live in such a great time. I mean, we had radio, but this is something so very different.”

“We have our problems, too,” said Bill shaking his head, “every generation does.”

“Bill,” she asked with pleading eyes, “You will take me out today. Right?”

“Yes,” he said taking a sip of coffee, “I will.”

She looked into his eyes and said sincerely, “I’d like to thank you for saving us. I now realize that if you and John hadn’t shown up, we would have been lost at sea. I was almost out of gas and as you know we lost our means to communicate.” She put out her hand and he shook it. “Thank you again.”

Just then Matt entered with John and Fred.

“Breakfast is served, sir, in the main dining room.”

After good mornings all around, Bill escorted them to the large room. The smell of eggs and bacon greeted them and they all ate as though they were famished. The conversation was mostly small talk until the meal was finished.

“I’d like to take you on a trip that John set up.” Bill said as he drained his coffee mug. “He is a writer for Aerospace Technology Week magazine and knows lots of people in the aviation field.” He tilted his head toward John, “But let him tell you.”

“A good friend of mine is a docent at the Cradle of Aviation Museum in Farmingdale, Long Island. He’s going to give us a private walk-through of the museum this afternoon. It has almost any aircraft you can name. Sound good?”

Both Amelia and Fred answered yes in unison.

 

Two hours later they got out of Bill’s black SUV. Amelia and Noonan stood looking at the car.

“My Lord,” she said, “what an age . . . and what traffic! Lord, a person would have to leave their house hours before their flight leaves.”

Fred had the same look of astonishment and just shook his head as they went into the old Grumman hangar that had been transformed into one of the greatest aerospace museums in the world.

Docent Jim Ruggiero was standing by the front desk and waved them over. John shook hands and introduced them calling Amelia, Amy Visionaire, and Fred, Fred McMann.

Jim looked at Amelia and said, “Wow! Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Amelia Earhart?”

Bill laughed, and before she could answer said, “She tells me she hears that all the time.” Amelia just smiled.

They went in and she was immediately naming all the aircraft they were shown.

It’s almost as though she was on intimate terms with all these aircraft, thought Bill.

She started telling little-known anecdotes about the aircraft, much to Jim’s delight as he took notes now and then.

They got to one aircraft and the docent said, “This aircraft carried the Sperry autopilot, an invention that could only come from the mind of the great visionary, Sperry.”

Amelia shook her head and said, “Sir, I beg to correct you, but Orville Wright received the Collier Trophy in 1913 for the Wrights’ Automatic Stabilization System, which was the forerunner of the auto pilot.”

“Oh,” said Jim, “I better research that and correct my script. Thank you, Amy.” He laughed and said, “You not only look like the famous aviatrix, but sound as she probably sounded, too.”

She was constantly adding small facts to the docent’s remarks. When he got to the JN-4 Curtiss Jenny, he said, “More than 600 Jennys arrived in Europe for World War One to help win the air war.”

Amelia smiled and said, “Actually, the number was 400, which was a lot fewer than the 20,000 they promised General Pershing.”

When they got to the Apollo 11 mission that showed a replica of the Lunar Lander resting on a simulated patch of the moon, she turned to Bill and asked wide eyed, “We, we went to the Moon?”

Jim looked at her with raised eyebrows as Bill steered her away and whispered something in her ear. She was quiet for the rest of the trip, but Jim felt that more than once her giggle told him she wanted to correct him.

Finally, the trip was over and they were back in the car when Bill and John started laughing out loud. “John,” said Bill, “that’s the last time Jim will invite you into the museum.”

“It was a great trip,” said Amelia. “The museum had almost every aircraft made in the U.S. What history!” She put her hand on Bill’s shoulder as he steered through traffic, “Once again, Bill, thanks. It was a real eye-opener. And, now more than ever I know what I want to do.”

“And what’s that?” asked John.

“I do want to go to the future. That is, my future, your past, the 1960s and teach school. I want to fly and teach young children about aviation.”

John said, “There’s a school I went to in Queens, New York. Queens Aviation High School. My dad went to it when it was known as Manhattan High School of Aviation Trades. It’s the best and you’d be perfect for it.”

 

The last night before the two time travelers were to take Amelia and Fred back to the sixties, they were sitting around the big television sipping hot chocolate when Amelia said, “Bill, John, there’s something on my mind and I have to try to find out the answer before we leave.”

“Go ahead and try us,” said Bill as he took a sip of hot chocolate.

“You say that the way history happened, Fred and I never made it back. But when this probe from the future saw us making it back and the consequences of it was bad, they had to fix it. Correct?”

“Correct,” answered Bill.

“Well,” she continued, “maybe we didn’t really ditch at sea after all. In fact, what if the answer was, we didn’t make it back because you guided us to the other island. Then, by bringing us back to the States in secret, that’s the reason we disappeared. Could that be the reason we never returned?”

“Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” quipped John.

Bill shrugged his shoulders and said, “Amelia, we did what we thought was right. In our time, you two never made it. Now, by us guiding you to the island, did we save you from another fate? I don’t know. Would you prefer we do it again and leave you to your own fate?”

“Not me,” answered Fred sitting forward. “I remember the cold feeling of seeing the gas gauge going on empty, no one giving us directions and us having to come down to 1,000 feet to try to get a glimpse of the ocean. No, thanks! I’ll take this scenario. It definitely got us back.”

Amelia nodded and said, “Fred’s right. This is the one that definitely worked. I’d have to stick with this one, too.” She took a sip of her drink and looked at Bill then continued in a more somber tone, “You said that my husband George has a good life and from what I’ve read in your library, he does and I’m happy about that.”

Bill nodded and said, “Yes, like it said in any book on the subject, he goes on to become an officer in the Army and also very successful in business.”

“Well,” she said with a smile and a wink, “he always wanted to be in the Army, and you never know, maybe I’ll arrange a meeting with him later on.”

They stayed up almost the entire night with Amelia and Fred studying the era they were about to enter.

 

It was eleven the next morning and Matt had outfitted both Fred and Amelia with clothing for the year 1964, the year they had chosen.

Bill sat at the coffee table with them and said, “Amelia, Fred, it’s been a great pleasure to have met you both. That you understand the consequence of going back to your time is a tribute to your conscience and patriotism.”

He passed them both large manila folders and continued, “We want you to have the best chance of making it and have provided you with certain papers from our extensive historical records division. Inside you’ll find credentials stating that Amelia is a qualified teacher in the field of aviation along with a current pilot’s license.”

He looked at Fred and continued, “Fred, you’ll find instructions in all navigation aids of the period plus some future aids not around yet. Take care that you keep them to yourself, but they will give you the name you deserve when you open your navigation school.”

He then passed them keys and continued, “We set up rooms for you both in the Pennsylvania Hotel on Thirty-second Street and Seventh Avenue, Manhattan, the heart of New York City. Stay there for as long as you need.”

Matt came in and handed Bill two blue books and Bill passed them to Amelia and Fred. “Here’s a bankbook for each of you. Matt went back to 1962 to the Chase Manhattan Bank on Church and Worth streets in downtown New York City and opened accounts in your names. He deposited one million dollars in each account. By the standards of 1964, you both are very rich people. It’s the least we can do for you.”

Amelia and Fred just stared at Bill. Finally, Amelia broke the silence, “Bill, will we ever see any of you again? You all have been so wonderful to us.”

Bill shrugged his shoulders and said, “I don’t know. But let me tell you this, if either of you have any problems, just leave a message at the club with instructions that it not be opened until the date you need me, and when I open it, I’ll go back to the date and help you out. Got it?”

Both nodded with a smile.

“So,” she said, “in a sense you will always be here with us, holding our hand.”

“Exactly. Always. You can count on it.”

Finally, it was time to go, and Bill and John walked them down to the garden after dialing up July 4, 1964.

 

DATELINE: JULY 4, 1964 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

Fred entered the garden dressed in a two-piece lightweight, gray suit, white shirt with button-down collar and black necktie and Worth streets in downtown New York City and opened accounts in your names. He deposited one million dollars in each account. By the standards of 1964, you both are very rich people. It’s the least we can do for you.”

Amelia and Fred just stared at Bill. Finally Amelia broke the silence, “Bill, will we ever see any of you again? You all have been so wonderful to us.”

Bill shrugged his shoulders and said, “I don’t know. But let me tell you this, if either of you have any problems, just leave a message at the club with instructions that it not be opened until the date you need me, and when I open it, I’ll go back to the date and help you out. Got it?”

Both nodded with a smile.

“So,” she said, “in a sense you will always be here with us, holding our hand.”

“Exactly. Always. You can count on it.”

Finally it was time to go, and Bill and John walked them down to the garden after dialing up July 4, 1964.

 

DATELINE: JULY 4, 1964 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

Fred entered the garden dressed in a two-piece lightweight, gray suit, white shirt with button-down collar and black necktie remember, send a message up if you need anything at all. Good luck.”

They entered the taxi and tears glistened in Amelia’s eyes as she looked back out the taxi window. “Thanks for everything, you two. Goodbye.”

The taxi pulled away from the curb, and Bill and John watched it turn the corner of history.

Bill looked at his watch and said, “Time for lunch. Diamonds?”

John nodded and answered, “Yes, I can go for a tall, cold brew.”

They walked the few city blocks to their favorite watering hole and went in to be greeted by Paddy Diamond.

“Hello, Billy,” said the big jovial man as he pulled a large glass of beer for him, “how’ve you been?”

“Fine, Paddy how’s your dad?”

“Oh, he’s doing just fine. He fishes down at the Rockaway pier every chance he gets. Mom’s after him to paint the apartment, but he’s ducking it as much as he can.” He smiled at John and asked, “Beer?”

John put out his hand and said, “John Brand and yes, I’ll have a tall one.”

“Coming up. Here for lunch?”

Bill nodded and said, “Just a well-done burger for me, fried onions and fries.”

John pointed to Bill and said, “Same as him, Paddy, but medium, please.”

They took the booth by the old-fashioned telephone booth with the accordion door and raised their beers.

Bill said, “Cheers, and thanks for the airplane ride. It was an outstanding trip.” They clinked glasses and each took a drink.

After awhile, Paddy brought them the food and as he set the plates down, the telephone rang. Paddy answered it and said as he put his head out of the booth, “Not sure if he’s here, sir, let me look around. Who’s this?” He put his hand over the mouthpiece and said to Bill, “It’s a fellow named Matt. I told him I’d look to see if you were here. Do you want to talk to him or should I say you’re not here?”

Bill put his napkin down and said as he got up, “Thanks, Paddy, I’ll talk to him.” He went into the phone booth.

“Hello, Matt. What’s up?”

Matt answered, “Sorry to bother you sir, but your grandson stopped by and left a cube for you. I figured you might be at Diamonds and am calling from a candy store a few blocks away. Glad you are there.”

“Darn! I missed him. Thanks, Matt,” Bill said as he looked at his watch, “I’ll be back to the club in thirty minutes.”

“Oh sir, your grandson did say there was another mission coming up. It had to do with General Ulysses S. Grant.”

“You mean, President Ulysses S, Grant?”

“I do believe so, sir.”

Bill nodded to the phone and thought, I met the General once myself. What a great man. I wonder what the problem is? He hung up the phone and went back to finish his beer.

 

DATELINE: 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

Later that day, Bill Googled “Amy Visionaire” and read:

“Amy Visionaire, the Amelia Earhart look-alike young woman who seemed to come out of nowhere in the 60s, finished first in the Oshkosh Aerobatics Championships. Her home-built, low-wing aircraft stole the show as she looped and rolled above 67,000 paid viewers at the Oshkosh fly-in of 1971.

“The ‘Flying Schoolteacher’ as she is known, shares her aviation knowledge with the students of Queens Aviation High School in Queens, New York, when she’s not in the air.”

Bill smiled as he then Googled, “Frank McMann’s School of Navigation.” The screen showed: “The United States Air Force has awarded a contract worth $6.5 million dollars to Frank McMann’s School of Navigation in Farmingdale, Long Island. The service decided to downsize its navigation group and use civilian vendors. Mr. McMann won the Collier Trophy in 1974 for the school’s innovative approach to navigation.”

Bill sat back and lit a cigar as he opened the book titled, “He Led The Union To Victory; Ulysses S. Grant.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

The end is usually very apparent in a story, be it a book or movie. However, in this case, though it is the end page-wise, it continues on in the 1800 Club. You see, The 1800 Club does exist in New York City, though, under a different name and address. I, Bill Scott, also exist as President and owner of the club, and the people I wrote of, all exist. Some of their names have been changed, as they do have a life outside of the club, and they, and the club, must be protected.

By now you are thinking, “This is a put-on, there is no club that can travel in time.” But, I ask you to look around. Isn’t history the same as you read it in your history books? Believe me, the club is working to keep it so. You the reader may ask, “Why is he admitting this?” To that I answer, “Why not?” Sometimes the best place to hide something is right out in plain sight. So, while admitting the club exists, the secret is as safe as saying it doesn’t exist.

I intended to continue this narrative and tell you about some of the other missions the club has worked on, however, I have to interrupt this book at this point because I’ve just been alerted that there is a problem going on right now with U.S. General Ulysses S. Grant, the North’s top general. I do intend to document it, and others as they occur, in the next book, ‘Time Travel Adventures of The 1800 Club. Book 5.’

B.S.

 

Note from Robert P. McAuley

After each adventure in time, President Bill Scott dictates to me what occurred so I can write them down for posterity. He told me that, at this moment, there are more stories on hand and, as time goes on, who knows how many more there will be after that? He informed me that I might let our readers know that Book 5 will feature two more stories: The Time Travel Adventure to prevent the Union’s Top General of the Civil War, General Ulysses S. Grant from being captured by the South and the 1800 Club seeks to find out why a Civil War Ghost still hangs around after so many years. We both hope you find the time to read them. The following is the opening of The General Ulysses S. Grant Mission.

Regards, Robert McAuley

 

The General Ulysses S. Grant Mission

The balloon was at two thousand feet and drifting south. It seemed to disappear between white clouds and gray smoke from the cannon fire below. Few gray-uniformed troops looked up as they ran north toward the Union Army, caught unaware by the attack.

If General Grant were conscious, he’d have noticed the noise the wounded balloon was making. The hissing sound of escaping gas would have told him the shell fragments had pierced it.

Finally, in the bottom of the wicker gondola, he stirred and attempted to sit up. Grant grabbed hold of one of the ropes that tied the gondola to the balloon above, and pulled himself to his feet. As he stood, his eyes opened wide.

“My God! Where in the blazes am I?” He was wobbly and looked down. “Where in tarnation am I?” he said again.

Suddenly he put it all together and looked down as the ground started to come up faster at him. Oh no, he thought, I’m going to hit!

The ground seemed to rush up at an even faster pace as he held on and automatically picked his feet up at impact. The gondola hit the top of a ridge on top of a high rise. The shock threw the general out of the craft. He hit the Earth at a bad angle and heard his leg break before losing consciousness again. The now-lightener balloon bounced back into the air and kept traveling south without its occupant.

Continued in Book V.

Please Feel Free To Critique This Book

Other books by Robert P. McAuley

Sky Ship

Romance in a Ghost Town

Vampire’s Bloodline

Aviation, Facts & Rumors Book 1

Aviation, Facts & Rumors Book II

The Dripping Sands Of Time

A New Jersey Yankee In King Arthur’s Court

Time Travel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book I FREE!

Time Travel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book II

Time Travel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book III

Time Travel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book IV

Time Travel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book V

Time Travel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book VI

Time Travel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book VII

Time Travel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book VIII

Time Travel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book IX

Time Travel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book X

Time Travel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book XI

Time Travel Adventures of The 1800 Club: Book XII