22 October 1962
Chicago, Illinois
Nathan glanced at the mirror embedded in the wall of the narrow interrogation room and wondered who was watching him from the other side. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed and flickered, and the place stank of smoke and urine. Dust heaped in the corners, and black scuff marks marred the puce-and-gray linoleum tile. Before dumping him in here, the FBI agents had strip-searched him, and then returned his clothes. They let him keep his watch, but took his belt and his shoes. The slippers they gave him flopped when he walked, two sizes too big for his feet. They'd confiscated his glasses, too, not that he needed them anymore.
On top of everything else, he needed to pee.
He held his head in his hands and rested his elbows on the table. A dull ache still suffused his muscles. If he moved wrong, tingles still zinged through his veins. Or maybe it was those nano-doc things. The hair on the back of his neck prickled at the thought. Whatever, these jump-jeebie whatcha-callits were supposed to make him better, but the effects of this last trip hung around like a free-loading second cousin. Not that Nathan had any cousins.
What had they done with Haakon? Nathan hadn't seen him since these thugs had stuffed them in separate cars after arresting them. Haakon would know what to do.
When the door opened and footfalls tapped on the floor, he looked up. A woman entered, pulled out the chair opposite him, and perched in it, prim and proper, putting the table between them. She'd twisted her hair into a tight bun, which might explain the rigid inflexibility of her pale features. She placed what looked like a brown paper grocery bag filled with objects on the table between them, clasped her hands in front of her, and gazed at him through horn-rimmed glasses. "Good evening, Mr.—Hilbert, is it?" A smile flashed across her ghost-white features.
"Good evening." He wondered if she got that lean-and-hungry look by soaking her face in vinegar.
"I'm Special Agent Charlotte Corbett. I'm in charge of this investigation." She pulled a badge from her pocket, waved it at him, and then returned it before he could read it. "The FBI has a few things we'd like to clear up. It'll just take a few minutes, and if it all checks out, why then you can go on your way."
"Good. I'd like to go home." Lady, you don't have any idea how much I'd like to go home.
She reached into the bag and pulled out what looked like his driver's license. "Your home would be in Middleton, Iowa, Mr. Hilbert?"
"That's right. I'm a graduate student there."
"Uh-huh. I saw your student ID for Collier University in your wallet. We're checking that out, now." She tapped on the table with a scarlet-tinted fingernail and gave him a wall-eyed stare. "This is the strangest thing, though, Mr. Collier. I've never seen a driver's license quite like this one. It's got a color photo of your face, a fingerprint on it, and it's encased in plastic. Does Iowa do that for all their licenses?"
He shrugged. "As far as I know. It's the one the DMV issued me."
"Really? And when did they do that, Mr. Hilbert? Because, you see, there's another confusing thing. This license says it was issued in 2015. It also says you were born in 1992. How did you manage that, sir? I mean, being born thirty years in the future?" She shoved the license across the table, pinned it there with those scarlet-tipped fingers, and pointed to the date.
Nathan closed his eyes, frustration heating his face. "I wish I knew. Ask the other guy, Haakon. He's got all the answers."
"I'm asking you, Mr. Hilbert. You're in a heap of trouble, and I'm trying to clear things up for you. That 'other guy,' as you call him, he's a dangerous foreign agent. He's in another room, telling us all kinds of things right now. If you don't cooperate, well then, I can't be responsible for what might happen to you."
This was too much. "I want a lawyer. Don't you have to read me my rights or something? Mirandize me?"
Her mouth twitched and her eyes seemed to send daggers his way. When she spoke, her words came in a frigid rush. "What did you say?"
"Don't you have to read my Miranda Rights before you question me?" Nathan couldn't avoid the sick feeling he'd somehow made a serious mistake.
Corbett glanced at the mirror, leaned across the table and whispered, "What do you think you're doing? Play along with me and I'll get you out of here."
Nathan shook his head and answered in a stage whisper. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
She peered into his eyes for a few frozen seconds longer and then lounged back. Her tone turned scornful. "Are you trying to say you want an attorney, sir?"
"Didn't I just say that?"
"Your choice. You call a lawyer, and I can't help you anymore. I hope you've got the number of a good one. You're going to need it."
Nathan frowned, his unease growing. "Doesn't the government have to provide me with a lawyer? Like a public defender?"
That evoked a most unfeminine snort. "That's a good one. You're kidding, right?" She stood. "Someone will be back to take you to a phone. You get one call and one call only." She picked up her grocery bag of items, straightened her already straight skirt and strutted out.
Nathan cradled his head in folded arms on the table. What was he going to do now? Where was Haakon? At least Nathan was sure Haakon would never rat him out, no matter what Miss Ice Queen FBI Agent said. Not that Nathan had done anything that could be ratted out. He hadn't done squat, except do a good deed. Well, that and fall in love.
That made him pause. He couldn't really be in love. They'd just met, for fuck's sake. Just because he couldn't stop thinking about Haakon didn't mean he was in love. This was all happening too fast.
He heaved a sigh. He'd think about that when they were out of this mess. One phone call, she'd said, and the only numbers he knew were for mobile phones in 2018.
He squirmed in the chair. On top of everything else, he still needed to pee. Like really bad, in fact. He fidgeted and decided to try to the door. Locked. Of course. He tried clenching his crotch with his fist to squelch the urge, but it didn't help. "Hey!" He pounded on the door. "Anyone out there? I gotta take a leak here."
Silence.
The bastards. They were the FBI. They wouldn't really hurt him or anything, but he'd seen enough Law and Order episodes to know cops played head games. They probably left him here on purpose. Maybe that was why the room smelled of urine. He sat back in the chair, crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and concentrated on being miserable.
****
The FBI agent’s fist struck Haakon’s jaw and his head snapped to the right. He let his body sag and his head droop. Maybe they'd think he'd lost consciousness. His face throbbed and his heart pounded. The nano-docs flooded to his damaged features and deadened the pain, while their healing ministrations made every nerve ending bristle. Too-cold air from the overhead ducts blew across his bare torso. After they'd strip-searched him, they'd returned only his trousers: no shirt, shoes, or underwear. The bastards.
The agent grabbed his hair, lifted his head, and then slammed it onto the table. The movement sent fire shooting through the not-quite-healed wound in his shoulder.
The man growled, "Wake up, you dumb fuck."
Like that would work if he were really unconscious. How did the man get to be an FBI agent? Haakon had never encountered one from this era, but he knew they were supposed to be the elite.
The door to the room swished open and a new voice, a woman's voice, spoke, cool and efficient. "You've knocked him out. Idiot. We won't get anything out of him that way." A rough hand grabbed Haakon's chin and lifted his head. "Wake him up."
Ice water splashed on Haakon's tortured face and he gasped. The agent who had struck him slapped him across his left cheek, then his right.
The woman grabbed the agent's arm and stopped a third blow. "He's awake. Leave us."
The man rubbed his knuckles and kept his eyes on Haakon. "You sure you can handle him, ma'am?"
She glared at him and her words dripped with venom. "Look at me. What's your name, Agent?"
He glanced at her, and his eyes widened. "Magruder, ma'am. Albert Magruder."
"Agent Magruder, who exactly is the Special Agent in Charge here?"
"Uh, you are, ma'am."
"Then you will act accordingly. Put yourself on report when you return to headquarters."
His face flushed and his jaw muscles jumped. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good." She waited for two beats, staring at him, and then spoke in hushed tones. "So why are you still here, Agent Albert Magruder? Report to the conference room on four. There's intelligence reports of Spetznaz units in Chicago, and they're planning counter measures." When he didn't move, she snapped, "Now!"
He blinked and then stuttered, "Uh, yes, ma'am. I mean, I'm on my way, ma'am." He shuffled backwards toward the door, fumbled with the knob, and left.
Haakon wobbled his head and slurred his words. "What do you want from me?"
She stooped, picked up a brown paper bag from the floor, and placed it on the table in front of him. "Some information would be good. I've been talking to your friend."
Haakon's heart jumped at the mention of Nathan, but he kept his face impassive. "He doesn't know anything about anything. For sure, neither one of us have done anything wrong. Who the hell are you, anyway?"
She settled in the inquisitor's chair, across the table from him. "I'm Special Agent Charlotte Corbett, not that I expect that to impress you."
"What have you done to Nathan? If you've beaten him, too, I'll personally see to it that you lose your badge." That name, Charlotte Corbett. Where had he heard it before? Some other context, maybe?
"Really? You, personally? Like you're personal friends with Mr. Hoover or something? That's the best you can do?"
He tried to fill his voice with confidence, or at least bravado. "You can't begin to know what connections I've got."
"Maybe not, but I can imagine." She bit her lip and her gaze raked over him. "Don't worry about your friend. No one's hurt him, at least not yet. I just asked him a few questions. Like why he's got a driver's license from the future. I could have asked him about the ATM card in his wallet, or how he knows about the Miranda decision two years before it happened, but I didn't." Her lip curled. "I think I'll ask you instead, since he's clearly clueless."
He blinked. Her answer bordered on paradox, like she knew things no one but a Timekeeper should know. Best to play dumb. "I don't know what you're talking about." When did the FBI start hiring women agents, anyway? Wasn't that in the seventies? Something wasn't quite right here.
She reached into her bag and pulled out his Timepiece. "So you don't know what this is?" She shoved it across the table toward him.
"It's mine. It's a family heirloom."
"Cute. We both know it's a Timepiece. So you're either a Timekeeper on a mission here, or you're a renegade. I memorized all the field agents Control assigned to this era, so you're not on a mission. Who are you working for?"
Haakon hesitated. Maybe she was a Timekeeper. Still, it was best to be careful. "I'm not from Chicago."
"I know that. I took the trouble to look at the jump record in your Timepiece, but it's scrambled, like you're hiding something. How did you get here? You must have jumped from 2018 with what's-his-name. Nathan."
Haakon glanced at the mirror that hung on one wall of the interrogation room. "Won't your FBI colleagues think you're crazy, talking like that?"
She rolled her eyes. "Please. With the missile crisis going on, you think they can spare agents to watch me interrogate you? Except for that dolt Magruder, they pulled the last of them upstairs for a briefing a few minutes ago. We're alone here. Answer my questions."
"If they don't care about the interrogation, then why did the FBI pick me up?"
"Control set it up. Did you think you could arrive in this era and not have the temporal scanners on the South Side spot the echo? They went back and planted evidence that you were a Russian spy so the FBI would pull you in. Easy enough to do, what with all the paranoia about the Russians. Stop wasting my time. What are you doing here?"
Haakon frowned. She sure sounded legitimate. "Why should I trust you?"
A tight smile bent her features, but her eyes stayed cold. "Because if you don't, I'll have no choice but to take you out, and your friend, too. We can't afford any paradoxes. If you're a loyal agent, you'll know that. If you're not...well, then, my conscious will be clear for what I have to do."
He probed her face for a few seconds. Her words echoed in his head: what I have to do. He remembered the slaughter he'd let happen at Scarborough. Nathan's life would mean nothing if she thought his presence made a Deviation possible.
First things first. He had to protect Nathan, somehow.
But they were in the middle of the friggin' wrong missile crisis. The Deviation was here, too. Surely she must know that? Play for time. And Nathan's life.
He looked her square in the eye. "All right. Look, you're correct. I'm a Timekeeper. I'd just been assigned to the Battle of Stamford Bridge, in 1066. I've got to report in to Control. I've found evidence of a massive Deviation in process in Northumbria." Let her mention the missile crisis Deviation.
He could swear her face paled, although it was hard to tell given her chalky complexion. "Did you say 1066?"
Did her voice have a quaver? Couldn't be. "I did."
Her mouth firmed and her back straightened. "That's not possible. I'm personally familiar with Timekeeper operations in that era."
"I'm telling you, I was stationed there."
She pushed her chair back. "Look, friggin' Control has had me flipping back and forth between 1066 and here for months on my personal timeline. It didn't make any sense until just now. It's got to be because of you. Come clean, right now, or I'll just wrap this all up."
Wrap it all up. That could only mean one thing. Think fast. "It's got to be a screw up at Control, somehow. The assholes cover it up, but it happens. Control in 2018 once sent me on an operation in Knossos and I got tangled up with a team that Control in 2271 had sent. We almost caused a Deviation before we figured out what had happened. Every field agent knows stories like that." He waited, holding his breath. Would she buy it?
Her jaw muscles jumped and her eyes flashed. "Maybe." Some of the tension went out of her face. "The same thing happened to me during the siege of Atlanta in 2092." She glanced at her watch. "Look, we're on a tight schedule here. If you have evidence of a Deviation back in 1066, we need to team up. Nothing can go wrong back then. I mean nothing." Her eyes glinted.
"Agreed. I'd like to report in to my base, Control in 2018. The anomaly I saw at Scarborough in 1066 is a big one. You want to talk about a critical era—that's one for sure. Even more than now. Plus, there's a refuge in the Pleistocene that's all screwed up. The jump station had presets for Havana Control, for bog's sake."
"Pleistocene? We absolutely have to talk, but we can't do it here." She tapped the table with a crimson-nailed forefinger and then abruptly stood. "Leave Control out of it for now. They'll just make it worse. Let me get the two of you away from here. We can rendezvous with my team back in Jorvik and sort this out." She opened the door and turned to face him. "Stay here. I'll be back."
Haakon thought about following her, but exhaustion dragged at his body. At least Nathan was safe. For now. Except now the poor fellow was headed to medieval England.
He noticed she'd left his Timepiece behind. Nice of her. Haakon folded his arms on the table and rested his head. His face throbbed from the beating, and his left eye was swelling shut. The nano-docs must be degrading from over-use, or they'd handle something as simple as a black eye. His shoulder cramped and he twisted it, sending tingles down his arm. She was right. Fix the mess in 1066 first, then figure out what was happening here.
He looked up when the muffled sound of automatic gunfire rattled through the air ducts in the ceiling. A single shot cracked in the corridor outside. Footsteps thudded past his interrogation room and retreated away.
Haakon tested the door. Unlocked. Careless of her if she wanted him to stay put, unless it was a trap. He opened it a crack and peeked outside. A dozen feet down the hall, a man's body lay twisted in a pool of blood. Haakon squinted and recognized Magruder. The sounds of more gunfire clattered from the ducts. What was going on? Haakon squatted down and stuck his head into the hallway, looking left and right. All clear. Except for the body, no one was around.
He snatched up his timepiece and jogged down the hallway, intent on finding Nathan.