5

They Arrive

The white flash that blinded the travelers seemed to clear, revealing before them a vista unseen by any living eyes for a full century.

They appeared mostly on a sidewalk, except for Agent Harris, who stood out in the street enough to nearly get hit by a passing car‍—specifically something in the Model T category. She quickly jumped out of the way, then joined the others in assessing their surroundings, though hers was more of a tactical survey.

The buildings lined the streets like tall, blocky sentinels. The landscape was a strange sight to those who knew the New York of the future and were seeing many of the older buildings as new again, back in the day when they were modern tributes to mankind’s reach for the sky. Missing were the truly towering behemoths that would come much later; in their places were structures seen only in old photographs. Skyscrapers had turn-of-the-century architectural styles. One building looked like a tall wedge where two streets crossed at a forty-five-degree angle; miniature towers and minarets on another gave it the appearance of a baroque castle, while most simply formed a tall wall to cast a shadow across the narrow streets below. Here and there, large billboards advertised some ancient brand of cigarettes or household goods.

The streets were filled with a scattering of old-styled cars, though they looked anything but old. Model Ts and other variations of the design tooled along, with one double-decker bus plying its way down the street, the top deck open to the air. The car about to hit Agent Harris squawked a honk from a horn the driver had to physically squeeze at the side of the door. Along the sidewalks, people were coming and going, dressed in similarly styled apparel as the team, with more variation perhaps in the styles of women’s dresses, though nothing shorter than calf length. Suits seemed the order of the day for the men, the exception being the occasional small cluster of uniformed soldiers back from a terrible war, and a young paperboy calling out the day’s headlines as he waved about a copy of the local newspaper. Other uniforms they could recognize as police, their hats like small domes atop their heads as they directed the scant traffic with their batons or chased the occasional young lad trying to escape with his stolen prize from a small drugstore.

“It’s like . . . history just exploded all around me,” Captain Beck observed.

“Somehow,” Dr. Weiss remarked, “I rather expected to see it all in black and white, but I suppose that’s just because of all the vintage pictures I’ve viewed.”

As the team historian, Professor Stein was marveling like a kid gazing through a bakery window, jaw hanging open as one sight or another would catch his eye. “That’s a Jordan Model F Touring car‍—and it’s brand-new! A Model A, an Essex town sedan, what looks like a precursor to the old Woody . . . and the architecture!”

“Most of these buildings still exist in our time,” Dr. Weiss reminded him.

“But looking this new? Why, some of the buildings we consider really old are just being built! This is such an unparalleled opportunity to‍—‍”

He was interrupted by Agent Hessman smacking him across the chest with a rolled-up newspaper, reminding him of why they were there in the first place.

“Start on our mission,” the team leader finished for him, dropping the paper in the professor’s hands.

“Right,” the historian said, pulling himself back from his burst of wonder. “But you can understand how I would‍—yes, enough of that. To business.”

He unrolled the newspaper and scanned it for information. Meanwhile, after a quick look around, Agent Harris guided them off to the side of the walkway and started the group into a brisk walk down an alleyway she’d spotted.

“Looks like we have five days before the TDE plays out, according to this date,” Ben narrated as he read. “Big headline of the day is President Wilson coming back from the Versailles Peace Conference, which makes this the beginning of July.”

“Summer,” Dr. Weiss said. “I could have told you that from the heat and humidity. This material doesn’t exactly breathe, you know.”

“First order of business,” Agent Hessman told them, “no titles. No doctors, professors, or agents. I’m just Lou or Mr. Hessman, the captain is Robert or Mr. Beck, Agent Harris is simply Sue, Lieutenant Phelps is David, you’re Ben, and, Dr. Weiss, you’re just Sam. Got it? Any military-sounding titles would be too easy for someone to verify, and I don’t want to worry about anyone’s reaction to titles like ‘special agent.’ Just keep things as generic as possible so we don’t stand out.”

“I know,” Sue Harris spoke up. “There wouldn’t be a woman agent in this period to begin with, much less a black one. But I ain’t faking no Aunt Jemima accent.”

“That would be down in the Deep South,” Ben replied absently as he continued to read.

In the alley, a small group of young teenage boys looked ready to defend their claimed hangout. At least until Lieutenant Phelps stepped forward and flexed a muscle or two. The alley was quickly theirs alone.

“Concerns of influenza outbreak,” Ben stated as he continued with his nose in the newspaper. “That checks out . . . Recent bombing by some anarchists just a few days ago . . . What looks like a rise in crime caused by Prohibition. There’ll be a lot of local crime gangs in the city making money off of illegal liquor sales, not to mention all their usual activities.”

“How big a threat?” Sue asked.

“The gangs can get violent, but they’re still pretty small. They won’t have unified into the sort of organized crime we know of quite yet. We’re just on the cusp of that era. Those Prohibition-era environments we’ve all seen in the movies won’t be kicking into high gear for about another year or two.”

“I rather expected to see more girls dressed in those risqué dresses,” Dr. Weiss interjected with an embarrassed grin. “Flappers, I think they were called?”

Ben brought down the paper as he replied to his companion’s remark. “I’m afraid that doesn’t happen for about another five years at this point, Sam. They’re still pretty conservative at this point, though some historians question if‍—‍”

“Back to more immediate matters,” Agent Hessman reminded him. “We need a place to start. We’re in a city of millions with no traffic cams, no internet, and not so much as a stoplight, from what I can see. All we know is what’s recorded in Ben’s record book.”

“My—oh, you mean my pocket comp—”

Sue immediately had a hand clamped over the historian’s mouth, while Dr. Weiss gave him a quick reminder. “No anachronisms, not even verbal ones. We don’t know what unseen person might be listening.”

“Exactly,” Agent Hessman said. “Your portable little history bank is a record book. Okay?”

Ben nodded as Sue removed her hand from his mouth, then resumed her watch of the crowd passing by outside the alley.

“With that in mind,” Agent Hessman continued, “Ben, what can you suggest of where we should start?”

“Well, I should caution that, while my . . . record book is quite complete, there may be events left unrecorded.”

“Like what?” Dr. Weiss asked.

As an answer, Agent Hessman took the paper from Ben’s hands and turned it around to show the headline reading, “President Comes to New York City!”

“Something like that could generate all sorts of unrecorded activity,” he stated. “Security precautions, high-level diplomats coming in for secret meetings that by necessity would definitely not be recorded, all manner of things of a nature that we need to know about.”

“So we have a problem,” Captain Beck summed up. “Too much is going on in this city that we don’t have on record, and we have a very limited time to find out.”

Dr. Weiss glanced out at the busy streets, the rows of buildings marching away to the horizon, and grunted. “A needle in a haystack would be far easier to find. When you add in that it could even be some seemingly inconsequential event, such as some kid getting hit by a car or not, the possibilities are astronomical.”

Lieutenant Phelps had taken up position opposite Agent Harris at the mouth of the alley, Sue earning an occasional odd look from passersby, to which David simply glared to send them on their way. A group of people talking in quiet tones in an alley might be suspicious to some, but even in the year 1919, too much of interest was happening in the streets around them to long draw attention to their small alley.

Agent Hessman thought for a moment at Sam’s remark, paced a few steps, and shook his head before speaking again. “No, I don’t think we have to worry about anything on that small a level. Remember, whoever came back here before us has the same level of historical knowledge as we do. They might have a few more details here and there, or might have missed a few things, but basically we’re working on the same playing field. They’ll be limited to whatever has been recorded in history books or government records.”

“My . . . record book,” Ben began, “was loaded with everything that General Karlson could get, including sealed military and government records of any sort. It’s still a lot to go through, though.”

“Agreed, though it may not include all the secret files of some foreign governments, which in a strange way gives us a place to start. Ben, I assume that record book of yours includes maps?”

“Down to the very alley we’re standing in,” he answered. “Here, give me a minute.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sue caught Ben pulling something the size of a bulky cell phone out of his breast pocket and acted immediately. Stepping back to stand between Ben and any accidental street-side view, she grabbed hold of his shoulders and gently spun him around so his back was to the street, hiding any view of the device he was pulling out. Ben barely seemed to notice the act as he passed a finger down the length of the little screen.

Agent Hessman took another glance down at the headline in his hands before rolling the paper back up. “Let’s assume that things start from the big headline of the day: President Wilson’s pending arrival. Wasn’t he about to promote the League of Nations or something? That’s got to have every foreign diplomat around scurrying.”

Ben replied with a slight nod as he looked at the display now on his small device. “Area maps for the year 1919. And yes, the League of Nations. With World War I finally over with and the treaty all signed and delivered, Wilson was trying to push the country into joining it. I don’t recall any particular diplomatic visitation, though.”

“Don’t bother looking,” Hessman replied. “Half the stuff those types do is all off the books.”

“A question for those of us uninitiated in the way of spycraft,” Dr. Weiss interjected. “You implied that our lacking any of the secret files from foreign governments gives us a place to start. May I ask how?”

“Simple.” Agent Hessman paced a few steps down the alley, then turned on his heel and explained to his team. “Either the Japanese or Germans sent a team back in time to change something. A team that would have some information that we lack but only as it relates to their own country’s activities of the day. With Wilson as a suspected trigger point, they would begin with whatever secret activity that their government of 1919 was up to that we may not know about.”

“Which leaves us where?” Captain Beck asked.

“At one of the consulates,” Hessman answered. “Ben, we need the location of the Japanese embassy.”

“Coming up,” Ben replied as he tapped a finger to his screen.

“Why not the Germans?” Captain Beck asked. “Their country would have been very unhappy with how the war came out.”

“Which is why I’m putting them farther down my list,” Hessman stated. “I doubt if the Germany of 1919 had anyone left to spare to send over here on any sort of mission, secret or not. They were too occupied with being wrapped up by that treaty. Even if some modern-day neo-Nazi wanted to get something going back here, their German ancestors wouldn’t be up for it quite yet. The Japanese, though, would also have a gripe but with more resources readily available.”

Ben paused from his work on his device to look up curiously at Agent Hessman. “Actually, that period was quite prosperous for them, Agen‍—Lou. They were on the winning side of that war and barely suffered any losses in it to begin with. Are you privy to some piece of historical knowledge I have overlooked?”

“Not at all,” Lou replied. “It just stands to reason, since we know that Japan enters in on the aggressive side of the next world war, that they must have had something to gripe about, and looking into what that something is, is as good a place to start as any. Ben, how do we get to the Japanese embassy?”

“Coming up now . . . Quite a walk from here. I might be able to find us a subway route in that direction.”

Sue Harris had been keeping an eye out for possible threats, with an ear on the conversation, and now put forth her own opinion. “Too many trap points taking the subway.”

“Do you have a better way, Miss Harris?” Captain Beck asked.

She gestured with a nod in the direction of what was now passing down the middle of the street: another of the double-decker buses they had seen earlier. “We ride top level so we have a clear view of all approaches.”

“Agreed,” Agent Hessman said after taking a brief moment to consider. “Phelps, you lead point. Ben, you’ve get to tell us which bus we’ll be taking.”

The team then left the alleyway in relative silence, saying as little as they could as they approached a stopped bus to board and be off for the Japanese embassy.