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October 17th, 1924 The Diamond St. Drugstore
MATT sat on a stool at the counter enjoying an egg salad sandwich and a chocolate malt and completing his recovery from the previous evening’s events. He had woken well before dawn slumped in a doorway with his head pounding, coated with grime and reeking of booze. As if he’d been on a bender, even though he hadn’t had a drop. Likely that had saved his life.
The conspirators he’d seen had surely searched the streets for him after his flight, but they couldn’t have gotten a good look at him, and to anyone who had come across his unconscious form, he would’ve seemed like any one of a number of drunkards who hadn’t made it home. Assuming they had a home to return to. Thankfully, Matt had.
Though making his way crosstown to the Ngaio had certainly earned him some funny looks. It may have been the miasma of expensive alcohol instead of the cheap stuff, but that had made no difference—he hadn’t remotely resembled anything like a respectable citizen. What had been a serendipitously perfect disguise the night before had become something of a handicap. Still feeling somewhat groggy and swaying slightly, Matt had snuck around to the rear entrance and slipped up the service stairs, trying to reach his suite unseen in such a state by any of the guests. And hoping, probably uselessly, to go unrecognized by the staff that saw him.
Once he’d gotten safely to his rooms, and without encountering Page, he had tossed those ruined clothes in the trash and scrubbed himself thoroughly clean in the shower. After that, he’d stepped into freshly laundered clothes—nice navy pinstripe suit jacket and pants with a white shirt, but not a tie or vest, because he didn’t want to look like a banker—and become a new man. Felt almost whole again.
His head had still ached and he had rubbed his skin raw, but he’d been able to turn his attention to the question of what to do about what he’d learned last night. Clearly he’d have to inform the authorities, but what would be the best way to do that?
He didn’t have an actual crime to report, only a tale of one to be committed. He had some details—a bank robbery, which bank, and that they planned to strike this morning. Or had planned. Since they knew they’d been spied on, but couldn’t know what or how much might’ve been overheard, they would probably have changed their plans. Possibly they’d scrapped the idea altogether.
But that didn’t matter. Matt knew what he had seen and heard, and he needed to get that information to the police. Then he could let them act on it. But would they, only on his say so and without any evidence? Obviously the thing to do was relate it all to Lt. Cross. He would credit Matt’s tale and could figure out the best way to use the knowledge, whatever it might be worth. The man was clever enough to make the most of it, anyway.
Matt hadn’t had any desire to go to the station and try to explain to the desk sergeant why he needed to see Cross, and it was possible the man wasn’t even in. Matt had considered writing a long letter, with all the details he could remember, but even in this era where the post office was still making multiple deliveries each day the morning mail might be too late getting to the lieutenant. That had left only one way.
Heading out of the hotel and down to the nearest drugstore, Matt had gone straight into an empty phone booth. Not to call the precinct—since Cross might not be there, and even if he were it would be a fight to get put through to him—but to send a telegram. That would seem urgent enough to be given to the lieutenant promptly, and then Cross could do whatever could be done to stop the hot-headed anarchists. It was also convenient from Matt’s point-of-view.
The early twentieth century’s version of e-mail might cost more, but at least it wouldn’t be ignored among an avalanche of spam. It got attention, and it would get through without Matt having to do anything further. He’d put the most salient bits in the telegram, and Cross could come to him for more details if and when they were needed. What had to be done had been done though, so Matt had sat down at the counter to celebrate with a belated breakfast and think things through. What could he conclude from what he’d witnessed last night?
There hadn’t been any sign of Hawthorne in the warehouse and no mention of his name, but someone with a key to the place must have been involved somehow. And though Matt hadn’t recognized any of the conspirators, they’d seemed familiar enough with their surroundings. It was obvious that they’d met there before. And the night he’d followed Hawthorne to the warehouse, the man might have come for one of those meetings.
But that was speculation. Matt still couldn’t tie the lawyer directly to what he’d seen last night, and it was conceivable someone else associated with the charity was behind whatever was going on. Such as the supervisor Hendricks, who Matt had never seen and so could have been the better dressed fellow in charge of last night’s meeting. Maybe of the entire operation.
Regardless, it meant the authorities were right to suspect radicals were involved in the charity and Page would probably stop supporting it. Presumably Cross would share Matt’s observations with the BOI, and the federal agency and the New York cops could cooperate or argue about who should handle the conspirators and how, but it wasn’t Matt’s business anymore. He was out of it.
By the time he finished his meal and rose to go back to the Ngaio, he realized he must’ve lingered a half hour or more over his breakfast, but then he’d had a lot of thinking to do and a rough night to recover from. Still, the morning was getting late, the sun had risen high enough to shine across the canyons of the city, and the hordes were bustling along the sidewalks and streets. And Page had to be wondering where he was.
He wasn’t looking forward to telling her all he’d been up to last night, but it was unavoidable. Then he should probably hang around the hotel all day in case Lt. Cross wanted to get ahold of him to ask for further details. Which wouldn’t be a hardship. He could relax and order room service, read the paper, and listen to the radio. And if Page wanted his help this evening with research, by then he’d feel free to go out on a ‘date night’ whether the lieutenant had stopped by or not.
This time Matt breezed through the front door and strolled across the lobby with a wave at the day clerk. He glanced in the dining room to make sure Page wasn’t in there, then climbed the stairs to the fourth floor with a leisurely lope. He headed to his own suite first, to brush his teeth and check his appearance in the mirror. After making a few adjustments, he then went down the hall to Page’s rooms and knocked on her door.
Getting no response to repeated knocks, he began to worry. Thankfully, they carried keys to each other’s rooms for just this sort of situation. And as he’d certainly given her sufficient warning by then, Matt unlocked the door and stepped into the entryway, closing the door behind him before calling out her name. But again there was no response.
The sitting room was clearly empty, and a swift run through the other rooms confirmed she wasn’t there. Only when he slowed down and started looking around more carefully did he see the note she’d left for him on her writing desk.
I’ve gone to the bank to see about a trust. Back soon. And that was all it said. It didn’t explain anything, and he didn’t understand why she had left it here instead of in his suite and on his writing desk where he would’ve found it sooner. Then it hit him hard. Their bank.
Checking his watch, he saw it would’ve opened only half an hour or so ago, meaning she was likely still there, since visiting the bank was never easy or quick. He’d already dashed out of her suite and began bounding down the stairs when he told himself those violent men would surely have changed their plans to rob American International State. He was through the lobby and out onto the sidewalk by the time he was telling himself that Cross and the cops would have everything in hand anyway. He had no real reason to rush, but that didn’t slow him down. At least the bank was but a block and a half away.
Matt made his way quickly down to the corner, from where he could look down the cross street and see the squat, three-story structure in the distance. And everything appeared normal. Still, the sooner he was with Page the happier he’d be, in case something did happen. So he wove through the crowds, striding swiftly along the sidewalk, his eyes searching for her red hair because she might have left the bank and be headed back already. But he didn’t see her.
All the way there he caught no glimpse of Page or the police or anybody who looked like one of the men Matt had heard planning to rob the place. Lt. Cross must not have gotten the message yet, either that or he hadn’t thought it warranted swooping in here, sirens blazing. Probably it didn’t.
Leaving the thick air of the street, Matt pushed through the door and into the quiet, cool, and clean air of the bank’s lobby, which was always a bit startling. But the calm, everyday routine he discovered inside was a shock, considering what he’d been imagining. The thick brick walls kept all the sound of the city outside from getting inside, while the hum of the air-conditioning dampened what little noise there was within. A couple of tellers had their windows open, and they were dealing with the waiting customers two by two. A young man in a dark suit sat at a desk on the other side of the lobby, his head bent over some papers he was studying. A familiar face, but Matt couldn’t remember his name, and he didn’t see the manager Mr. Douglass. More importantly, he couldn’t see Page.
Of course, if she’d had business here, it probably would’ve been with the manager, and likely she was with him now, in his office or in the conference room, but Matt couldn’t go barging in either place. So despite his sense of urgency and the feeling he’d like to find her and get her out as soon as possible, he strolled casually over to the desk of the bank officer whose name he couldn’t recall, waited smiling until the man looked up.
“Mr. Walker? I suppose you came to join Miss Reader?” Kelvin—that was this guy’s name—tilted his head toward the back. “She’s in the conference room with Mr. Douglass.”
Thankfully the man had remembered who Matt was and guessed why he was there, at least in part. “Don’t worry, I know the way.” Though Kelvin had not budged. He looked like a man who didn’t want to move and probably had never had any intention of escorting Matt to begin with.
With a smile and a nod of gratitude, Matt sauntered away from the desk and back toward the conference room, looking forward to seeing Page. And to getting her out of here before anything untoward happened. If it did. He didn’t want to take the risk of her winding up right in the middle of trouble for the umpteenth time. The odds could catch up with her someday.
He reached the room and paused with his hand on the knob. He couldn’t hear them talking inside, but he assumed one of them would be, but then the bank was well-built, dampening sounds. And they had probably built these rooms to be soundproof to start, considering the confidential discussions that took place within.
Opening the door, he found Page sitting calmly in one of the leather chairs while Mr. Douglass was standing just inside with his back to Matt and waving his arms in the air. “Once again, I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to tell you anything about the Riggleston Trust. No matter how much you already know. I never should have admitted we administer it, but you tricked me.”
Matt would never have imagined a banker getting that worked up, even a man like Mr. Douglass. He had hoped to get Page out without any fuss, but clearly it was too late for that as she’d already made one herself. The question had become whether he’d be able to convince her to leave without her getting worked up as well. As she’d obviously been thwarted in whatever she’d come to do, it shouldn’t be too difficult.
And while he was tempted to pass on the same warning about a potential robbery he’d given Cross, he couldn’t see how to inform Mr. Douglass without telling Page at the same time. And Matt wanted to get her safely back to the Ngaio before he began his explanations. Partly just to see her out of potential peril and partly because he couldn’t predict how she would react. Anyway, he could leave everything besides Page in the hands of the police.
She had already shifted her gaze past the bank manager to Matt, and he grinned at her frustration before clearing his throat to get the other man’s attention. “Is there anything I can help with?”
Mr. Douglass turned with a sigh of relief. “Mr. Walker, perhaps you can explain to your associate. Confidential client information is sacrosanct, and I couldn’t possibly discuss any details with her. Surely you understand that.”
What Matt understood was that Page had managed to get the man to divulge more than he should have already and that he was having difficulty dealing with the indiscretion. And with her.
Well, Matt’s job was to help her. “I don’t know about that. Surely there are some things you could safely say without breaking client confidentiality?” He glanced at Page. “I can’t imagine she would ask for inappropriate information.” He had no need to imagine it, he’d seen her do it often enough.
He’d left the door open behind him, and just at that moment Kelvin appeared in the hall and stared at his boss with an anxious expression. “Sir?”
Mr. Douglass’ exasperated countenance melted into relief, then he turned to Page with an apologetic expression. “You’ll have to excuse me.”
Matt moved out of the man’s way and watched as he followed his subordinate back toward the lobby, then turned and saw Page stand with a satisfied look. “That worked out perfectly. Just the distraction needed so we can search their records.”
Gaping at her, Matt started shaking his head instead. “You can’t just go rummaging through their records because you want to. He said no, so whatever information it was you weren’t able to pry out of him, you’ll have to obtain another way.” And the two of them needed to get out of there right away.
She sniffed. “That’s exactly what I intend to do—and the ‘other way’ is by looking through the records. And I want you to stay here and create a distraction if Mr. Douglass returns too soon.”
Matt reached out to grab her arm as she began to walk past him. “No, not that way. And not right now. We can go back to the hotel and discuss strategy there, in comfort. While we eat.” It was surely not too early for lunch.
“If you don’t have any better ideas, I think we’ll go with mine.”
Clearly there was nothing for it but to tell her, if he was going to stop her and get her out of here. “I don’t have time to go into all the details—” His adventures of last night could wait for more agreeable circumstances. “But there’s a possibility this bank could be robbed today.”
She cocked her head at him. “Isn’t that true of every bank on any day?”
“I should’ve said a very real and distinct possibility. I don’t know for certain it will happen or exactly when, but we don’t want to be here then.”
Shaking off his arm, Page peered into his eyes. “I think you should’ve said something to Mr. Douglass. Better yet, you should tell the police.”
Matt took a deep breath. “I’ve already contacted Cross so the cops can do whatever they can, but there’s no reason to alarm people here unnecessarily.” Though it wouldn’t have done any harm to let the manager know.
“Then where are they? The police, I mean.”
“I don’t know.” Running his hand through his hair, he sighed. “Obviously they didn’t inform Mr. Douglass. Or hadn’t yet—maybe that’s what Kelvin came to get him for, to talk to the cops.” Or maybe Matt’s message had somehow gone astray?
Page shook her head. “Perhaps they didn’t take it seriously.” Her tone said she might not have herself. “What did the lieutenant have to say when you told him?”
“Well...” What would she think of his sending a telegram rather than heading to the precinct in person? “Not much.”
“Then stop worrying about it and let me get on with my search. As they don’t have computers yet, all their records will be papers in files, and it’ll take time to find what I’m looking for. Just be sure you keep Mr. Douglass busy as long as you can, once he comes back. Perhaps you could rob the bank yourself, if it comes to that.”
She had to be joking, but it was difficult to discern with her deadpan delivery. Matt sighed again. “Not just papers in files, but locked filing cabinets. And the room they’re in will likely be locked too.”
Thankfully Page nodded. “Even if I could get to them, that would probably be considered breaking and entering, or something else illegal, wouldn’t it? I can’t do that.” Matt breathed a sigh of relief. But too soon. “On the other hand, they might very well leave everything open for the employees, so it could be quite straightforward.” And she took a step out into the hall.
He took her arm again, but resisted an impulse to start shaking her. “I think that would still be illegal, even so. And even if it wasn’t, what do you imagine they’d do if they caught us?”
She stared at him as if he were slow. “Nothing at all. Considering the size of our accounts and the business they can anticipate from us, we’re not just customers, we’re valuable clients. Even supposing they caught us snooping around, they wouldn’t dare complain.”
“Oh wouldn’t they? Trust me, banks can be really rigid about that kind of thing. They’d have the cops haul us away in handcuffs if they could—and I wouldn’t want to bet they couldn’t. And even if they didn’t, I don’t want to imagine what they would do. But I know we wouldn’t like it.”
Page sighed. “Presumably you know what it is you’re talking about. So we need to make sure that we don’t get caught.”
Matt managed not to gape. “And if the cops are on their way because of my report? If they arrive to find us rifling through the bank’s records?”
“Well, it would probably be Lt. Cross who came, and he knows us, so it should be alright.”
“Now—” Before he could begin explaining what was wrong with her logic, help her see the very real threat of their being tossed in prison, Mr. Douglass returned, stumbling down the hallway toward them with a masked man behind him prodding him forward with a shotgun. And any and all argument became useless. It was too late to leave.
“Stop!” The manager stopped when the robber shouted the command, then the gunman turned to glare at Matt through the eyeholes in the balaclava pulled over his head. “You said cops on the way?”
Matt stood and stared for a long moment, completely blanking on what to say. “It was a joke,” he finally responded. “You’re robbing the bank?” And it seemed absurd now that it was happening.
“You some kind of funny man?” He waved the shotgun briefly at Page. “The pair of you can come with us for a little visit to the vault.”
Finally coming to his senses, Matt was about to make his move while that shotgun was pointed his way rather than Page’s, but then a second shotgun-wielding masked man came down the corridor and the two thugs made it too risky to try anything. The robbers forced the three of them along the hall and around the corner and all the way to the vault. The big heavy-looking steel door stood wide open, but a fairly formidable looking metal gate still barred the way. Fortunately or unfortunately, it emerged that Mr. Douglass had the key.
Matt and Page were forced to stand against the back wall of the vault while the manager was made to fill a large sack with bundles of cash. One of the two gunmen then left with the loot while his associate held the three of them hostage in the vault. And Matt had a sinking feeling why that would be.
A few minutes later, two more masked men returned to the vault, making three robbers they had seen in total so far, assuming one of the pair wasn’t the one who’d left with the shotgun. With their balaclavas on Matt couldn’t be sure, but he had an impression that these were two he hadn’t seen before. Probably there were more still, out in the lobby with guns pointed at the bank employees and customers there. But neither of these new arrivals carried any weapons. Not guns, anyway.
Rather, what the two brought into the vault was a large wooden crate, which they set on the table in the middle of the room. Detaching the bottom from the rest of the box, they then lifted that away to reveal a bomb.
It wasn’t a sophisticated device, but it was big, more than enough to do the job. If that was to level the whole building. A huge stack of dynamite with an alarm clock attached to a detonator sitting atop the pile. After they’d set the top of the crate on the floor, the shorter of the pair set the timer and then did something with the detonator.
Shorty looked at the one with the shotgun. “Alright. Now that it’s been primed, if anyone messes with it—tries to turn off the alarm, adjust the time, or detach the detonator—that will trigger the explosion.”
Mr. Douglass looked at the robbers with an expression of horror. “But why?”
Matt saw the gunman who’d forced them there sneer through the opening for his mouth. “To send you and your fat cat friends a message.”
Since they were taking money from the bank as well as intending to blow up what they left behind—not to mention all the innocent people they’d kill—Matt thought their message was mixed. Of course, these people were terrorists, so he wouldn’t expect them to be rational. Or have any sense of common decency.
The two who had carried the crate in strode out of the vault, and the other one was waving his shotgun at the manager and Matt and Page while backing out behind them, when a loud voice came from outside. Artificially amplified by some basic megaphone. It froze the remaining robber in his tracks, and gave Matt hope.
“This is the police. We have the bank surrounded. Lay down your weapons and come out one at a time. Slowly, with your hands in the air.”
The rude fellow with the shotgun turned a hard glare on Matt. “The cops were already on their way, and now we’re going to have to fight our way out—but that won’t help you any.”
Page shook her head at him. “Don’t be foolish. You’ll just get yourselves killed. But you don’t have to die. Nobody has to die.”
Matt tried to help her convince him. “You can’t get away with the money now. And the police have experts who can disarm that bomb.” He hoped so, anyway. “So what would be the point?”
The man turned his shotgun on them each one by one. “This is war. Even if we die, if we take lots of these cops with us, that’s a victory. And blowing this building into rubble will be another.”
At that moment, Matt was sure all of them were as good as dead. He, Page, and Mr. Douglass were about to be shot by this hateful man. And a shootout with the police would probably see the robbers gunned down and possibly officers and bystanders injured or killed too. Then the bomb would go off, bringing this building down and ending many more lives. It was unconscionable.
The fanatic swung the barrel of the shotgun toward the bank manager and fired the weapon point blank into Mr. Douglass’ chest. Then the murderer turned to Matt. “He was the only one who could’ve opened this vault. Now those experts won’t be able to get in to keep the bomb from going off. And you two will have a front row seat for the fireworks.”
Saying that, he backed out and swung the door to the vault shut with an ominous clang. Matt darted to kneel on the ground beside where the manager had collapsed, but a pool of blood was spreading beneath his body. And a moment after Matt began to check his pulse, the man’s heart had beat its last. “I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do for him.” Resuscitation would only help if Mr. Douglass got immediate medical care of the sort they probably still didn’t have. And even if they did, they could never reach him in time.
Glancing at Page, Matt stood and moved closer to the bomb and considered it. “The cops will have to deal with the robbers outside, but we’re the only ones who can keep this from detonating.”
She shook her head. “He said if you tried, that would just trigger the explosion. We have only one option—to Travel out of here.”
It was true they had an easy way to escape, but they had more than their own lives to worry about. “If this thing goes off, likely everybody in the building will die.”
Page stared at him. “But if you set it off, trying to defuse it, they’ll still die, and us along with them. It sounds callous, but if we can’t save them, we can at least save ourselves.”
“We have to take the risk and try saving everyone.” Everyone who wasn’t killed in a shootout between cops and robbers, which they certainly could not do anything about. “And we might still be able to save ourselves, even if I fail and trigger the detonation.” Traveling seemed to occur in less than the blink of an eye, but that was far from an exact measurement. And as much time-travel theory as he understood, most of the mechanics remained beyond him. “Just how ‘instantaneous’ is Traveling?” Not that she understood it any better, but she had spent some time around somebody who did. Or had.
Her clear blue eyes took on an abstracted look, and he presumed she was searching her memories of lectures past—back in the future she came from. “The professor said it happens in ‘interstitial time’, or between one moment and the next. But then he also said time isn’t made up of discrete moments.”
Great. Hugely helpful. “That’ll have to be good enough, I suppose.”
Page nodded. “So what are you going to do?”
Taking a penknife from his pants pocket, Matt stared down at the two wires, red and blue. “I’ll cut the leads from the clock to the blasting caps. Hopefully that will prevent it from detonating, but we’ve got to be ready to Travel when I do.” And hopefully they’d disappear fast enough, in case that triggered the explosion the way that man had claimed. Matt also had to hope such an explosion wouldn’t interfere with their time-traveling. “Anyway, it’s worth a shot, but I’ll have to push the button with one hand while snipping the wires with the other, to synchronize the action.”
She glanced at the bomb. “Aren’t you supposed to only cut one wire, and have to choose the correct one?” At least that proved she’d been paying attention to the movies he had taken her to in the twenty-first century.
“That’s Hollywood. Likely they don’t know any more about defusing bombs than I do. But since it will go off regardless if I don’t do anything, I might as well try something.” And if he was going to risk both their lives, he would do what he thought made sense, not what they did in the movies. And glancing at the face of the clock, he saw he only had a few minutes to act. Sealed inside the vault, they had no idea what was going on outside, but help could not come in time. It was up to him. “And try it now.”
Page nodded and slid in-between Matt and the bomb and wrapped her arms around him tight. He took off his watch, checked the coordinates he kept set for a default three year trip into the future, and reached around her. He positioned his left thumb over the button that would send them there, and in his right hand held the tiny scissors tool of the penknife between thumb and index finger. And gently moved the blades to where they hovered just above and below the thin, plastic-coated wires hanging in the air. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his hands from trembling.
And all of a sudden, with both their lives hanging in the balance, he wanted nothing more than to kiss Page, to kiss her thoroughly and with complete abandon. The desire almost overwhelmed him, but he couldn’t afford to let it, not at such a critical moment. Besides, she would find it presumptuous.
Resting his chin against the top of her head, he said a brief prayer before clenching both his hands at the same time.