Time is no longer the enemy. Time is our plaything. A toy we can wind, and spin, and tangle to our heart’s delight. Nothing is beyond us now. Everything, every time, is in reach.
~ Manuel Helu speaking at a tech conference I3–2069
Monday February 27, 2073
Brevard County, Florida
Federated States of Mexico
Iteration 3
Samantha Lynn leaned closer to the mirror to inspect her lipstick. The shade of her red lips perfectly matched the red in the Mexican flag pinned to her lapel. Another year or two of this, and she’d head for the senate. Every step was one closer to the presidential palace in the Plaza de la Constitución.
Her wall screen fizzed, artistic bubbles dancing up into the electric ether until they revealed the face of her second-in-command. “¿Sí?”
“We found evidence of the convict you were hunting,” the man said in broken Spanish. His flat northern accent was an assault on her ears. She forgave him. He was an intelligent man despite being born on the wrong side of the border and growing up speaking a bastard language, the child of too many father tongues.
“Where is Gant?”
“The Plaza Carso, ma’am.”
She frowned. “In Mexico City?” That was over three thousand kilometers away by bus, and unreachable by air, at least for Gant. If he’d gone through airport security, she’d fire every single guard at the place.
“No, ma’am, there’s a cheap apartment complex forty kilometers from the prison with the same name. We’ve tracked Gant to the area and believe he’s renting a house under an assumed name.”
“Get the team in gear. I want everyone ready to leave in ten minutes.” Gant was going back to prison, and this time she’d pay to see him executed. He would not escape a second time.
Detective Rose was on the news again. This time she was wearing a deep purple jacket the color of an old bruise that matched the dark circles under her eyes. Her lips were stained blood red as she assured the reporters that everything was being done to return the escaped convicts to their prison cells.
Gant wondered if Rose knew she was about to die.
He leaned back, and the once-overstuffed orange armchair he was sitting in squeaked in protest. The thing was an antique, the stuffing matted, lumpy, and smelled of cat urine. He’d probably kill the old man who rented him the prefurnished apartment with the promise of cash on Friday, but for now it worked.
The doorknob jiggled as the coke addict from next door tried to get in.
“Wrong apartment!” Gant shouted at him.
The heavy wooden door buckled and splintered under duress. Wooden shards flew across the room. Gant stood up, ready to fight.
A tall, heavily muscled man with a military buzz cut walked in with a cocky grin. “Right door.”
Gant offered him a grim smile. That was not going to be an easy neck to snap. “And you are?”
“Donovan.”
“Should that mean something to me?”
“Right now, it won’t mean a damn thing. A year from now, I’ll be the difference between your life of ease and your life behind bars.”
Gant raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening, and when I say that, I mean I’m listening for exactly three minutes because the police will be here in five.”
“Did you call them?”
“No, but my landlord is picky.”
“He’s dead.” Donovan’s grin widened. “We’re the only two people still breathing in this complex.”
“You don’t do subtle very well.”
“You don’t do smart very well.” Donovan chuckled. “How long did you think you’d be able to keep the Wilhite thing going? Another week? Two at the most?”
“No one even knows Wilhite’s the body they found in the parking lot. I made sure of that.”
“They did an autopsy.”
“Let them. The dental records were switched months before I left.”
“But you forgot his bum knee,” Donovan said. “He had it replaced three years ago after he ran into a particularly nasty bank crew. My crew. There’s a serial number in him, and his friends reported him missing.”
“Wilhite didn’t have friends.”
“He had more than you, but I’m about to change that.”
“Are you now?”
“What if I told you I could take you to a place where the cops would never find you? All your crimes vanish.”
“You have the shallow grave already dug?” Gant smirked. This was going to be a fun fight.
“Better than that,” Donovan said. “Ever heard of the Timeyst Machine?”
“I’ve seen the ads. ‘Visit history! See your own birth!’ ” Gant shrugged. “It’s a toy for the rich and stupid.”
“It’s also an escape route. A one-way ticket to the day before you committed the crimes.”
“Are you saying I should stop myself?”
“I’m saying you should go back and skip town before the cops ever have you on their radar. You can leave the country before anything happens. Have a new identity before the cops find your fingerprint. It’s foolproof.”
“And you need me because?”
“It’s a two-man job. My crew’s in the clink. I could break them out, but then I realized you were loose. You know security. You’re not afraid to get dirty. You can think faster than most cops. You can say no, but you’ll regret it.”
“Will I now?”
Donovan looked at the TV, where Detective Rose’s muted mouth was still flapping open as she lied to reporters. “You think she’ll let you go?”
“She doesn’t know I’m out.”
“She knows. She’s hunting you. She’s going to find you.”
“Unless I go with you?”
“That’s about the shape of it.” Donovan’s smile returned. “One little heist. One little trip back in time. You go your way. I go mine. No one ever finds us again.
“You’ll be the first criminal to ever escape Detective Rose.”