CHAPTER 3
San Francisco, California
the present
In his dream, Chance was running.
Running hard on pavement so hot it burned through the soles of his shoes. Sunlight glared, all but blinding him. He missed again and again as he grabbed for the handholds mounted on the dark limousine. A woman drenched in blood reached toward him, her sleeves dragging through a red and gray slurry of blood and brain matter -
The pealing of his cell-phone jolted him from the ghastly scenario. He groped for the phone, almost dropping it. "Chance," he mumbled, heart still racing. If it was Ames - or God help him, Harry - pulling some prank he'd -
"This is Endora," the caller said. "I'm sorry to disturb you at this time of night."
He squinted at his nightstand clock's luminous dial. It was 'night' only because the sun did not shine at 3:08 in the morning.
"An important matter has come to my attention. Discussing it cannot wait. Are you awake, Mr. Chance?"
"Mostly. What's wrong, Endora?"
"My Sisterhood has discovered new specifics about the device Mrs. Kennedy used to contact you. We have determined it was constructed using knowledge that should not be available to mankind for another fifty years. Given certain government agencies' skill in performing reverse engineering, it is imperative the device be recovered. I have been instructed to convey to you the urgency of this matter. There must be no delay in bringing the device to us for safekeeping."
This was what couldn't wait until oh, say, nine AM or maybe ten o'clock?
"I can try…." But damned if he had any sudden brainstorms as to how.
Endora's voice took on a sultry purr more ominous than any tirade. "We expect you to do better than merely try, Mr. Chance. Failure would prove…disadvantageous for all concerned."
Chance sat up, all at once wide awake.. "Endora, are you threatening me?"
"Oh, I truly hope it doesn't come to that. Good night, Mr. Chance. Pleasant dreams..."
... ... ... ... ...
Chance was working on his third cup of coffee, gazing unseeing at a bowl on the table filled with oranges, apples and grapes when Julia poked her head into the staff lounge.
"There you are," she said as if she'd just discovered his all time best hiding place. "Endora asked me to let you know she has arranged for the Arlington Coven to work with us. They'll provide a place to stay, period clothing, anything else you think you might need to recover the device."
Chance started to ask how she'd gotten into the building, then decided he really didn't want to know. He was still pissed at Endora. The pleasant dreams she had wished him were anything but.
Winston entered the lounge and gave Julia a sunny smile. "Hey, Julia, have a seat. Did Mr. Manners here offer you something to drink?" He reached for a coffee mug.
"I'd love a cup of tea, if you have any."
"Me, too," said Guerrero from behind Winston. "I'll make it."
Despite his sour mood, Chance got down to business.
"We need a means to communicate," he said. "Something that will work with 1960s technology. That was a big problem in Tombstone." He fixed Julia with a penetrating stare. "If you could have told me you were going off with Josie, I would have warned you not to."
"If Josie hadn't made herself look just like Bessie Earp, I wouldn't have needed any warning, thank you very much! Besides, thanks to Cedric, you found me."
"Yeah, well, we can't have a horse traipsing all over Washington looking for you if you disappear again."
"I won't disappear. Honestly, Christopher, do you think I just fell off my first broom yesterday?"
"Winston," Chance said, "what sort of radio did your cousin the Secret Service agent use? Nothing like our satellite link-up existed in those days."
Winston glanced up from the orange he was carving the peel from in a single fragrant strand. "I think they used Motorola walkie-talkies. Problem was, anyone who knew the frequency could listen in. And they were big. Heavy. Hard to hide."
"Walkie-talkies would work if we used a frequency the G-men didn't. But I want something small and easily concealed. Any ideas? Guerrero?"
Guerrero carried two steaming mugs to the table. He placed one in front of Julia.
"I know a guy who collects antique telecommunication equipment. He owes me." Guerrero reached for his cell phone.
"How do you intend to make contact with Jackie Kennedy?" Julia asked. "You can't just walk up to the front door of the White House and ask to see her."
Even before Endora's telephone call, Chance had given some thought to this matter. The chance of a casual tourist encountering the president on the White House grounds, shaking hands, and offering a word of advice on how to run the country ended when Japan bombed Pearl Harbor in 1941. By the Kennedy era, hefty security measures were in place to insure the First Family's safety and privacy. Chance considered taking a White House tour and getting 'lost' or asking the Arlington Coven to arrange an interview with Jacqueline, but he thought he knew a better way.
The White House internal telephone system was an enormous switchboard dating from before World War Two. Operators wearing cumbersome headsets answered calls by plugging a cord into the jack below a color-coded light the size of a large pea.
Someone with the proper knowledge and equipment could route a call through the switchboard by tapping into the mainframe.
"Simple," Chance said. "I'll call her and ask her to meet me."
The following day, a package arrived. It contained four three-ounce transmitters with lead-wires connected to receivers looking like old-fashioned hearing aids.
"They'll bounce signals off the old Telstar satellite the telephone companies used," Guerrero said as he examined one of the transmitters.. "Looks like they've been modified to block monitoring by any 1960s technology. Problem is, only two people can talk at one time."
"We can work with that," Chance said. He noticed Guerrero held a roll of white surgical tape. "What's that for?"
"These transmitters are pretty fragile. You don't want to drop it or have it fall out of a pocket. So…you…."
"Oh, hell. Tape it to my chest."
Linthicum Heights, Maryland
the present
Ilsa's jet touched down at Baltimore Washington International Airport well after dark. Although the airport was some thirty miles distant from Washington, D.C., it was only a short drive to the Linthicum Heights residence of Kassandra Parker, a member of the Sisterhood who had offered the use of her guest cottage and her magic.
As it did when they made their flight from San Francisco to Tucson before time-hopping to 1881 Tombstone, Cedric traveled disguised as a bass violin. Chance grunted as he heaved the heavy case onto the luggage cart. Like a cat that resented being held, the damned broom seemed to grow heavier each time Chance lifted it.
When they reached Executive Parking, Chance looked in vain for a vehicle towing a horse trailer. "Where's our transportation?" he asked.
Julia pointed at a tiny Smart Car in the darkest corner of the lot. Hitched to it was a cart resembling a length of down-spout cut in half, with two tires attached.
"You don't think Cedric's gonna ride on that, do you?"
Chance wasn't fond of the broom, but after Cedric's assistance solving a small but critical problem during their time in Tombstone, he didn't want it suffering any unnecessary discomfort.
"Of course he will."
Maybe if they left him in the case and strapped it down good and snug….
"Let's let him out and see how he likes it."
Nope. Not leaving him in the case. This, Chance thought, better be good.
They placed Cedric gently on the pavement. Chance promptly removed himself from the possible proximity of a flying hoof. But rather than its equine persona, Cedric morphed into the sleek Harley Davidson that had back-fired at him in front of Endora's residence.
Chance felt a little dense for not recognizing the motorcycle trailer for what it was.
"Cedric draws too much attention in his equine form," Julia said. "This is horse country. People always want to know his bloodlines. Of course I can't tell anyone I captured him wild and don't know anything about his sire and dam. So I have to make up a fib, and that makes him grumpy. Kassandra has a huge back yard where no one will notice him. He'll go equine there."
"Wait. You captured him - it - wild? As in out West, running with wild mustangs?"
"Well, I suppose you could say that, although it wasn't out West at all, it was in Faerie. And no easy task, I kid you not. Witches aren't welcome there. Especially when we come to capture a broom. Can you push him up the ramp, or shall I start him up?"
With the Cedric-cycle strapped to the cart, they headed for Bluefeather, Kassandra Parker's estate.
Standing three stories high, Bluefeather reposed on a spacious parcel of land a short distance from historic Turkey Hill, birthplace of Congressman John Charles Linthicum. Linthicum had sponsored the legislation establishing "The Star Spangled Banner" as America's National Anthem. Chance followed a curving drive to the rear of the sprawling fieldstone structure. Yard lights came on as he parked the Smart Car beside the estate's barn.
If he hadn't know Mae West died some time around 1980, he would have sworn it was the voluptuous blonde actress from the 1930s herself who came slinking out to greet them.
She wore a mink-trimmed peignoir and high-heeled mules. Her platinum blonde hair was marcelled in place with hot irons. Like Mae West, she stood only about five-two, but her mules added another three inches. She carried a spiraled wooden rod tipped with a crystal glowing a faint luminous green.
She gave her rod the same nonchalant twirl a flapper might her overlong string of pearls. "So ya fin'ly got here. Took ya long enough. Yer lookin' good, Julia, but the fox ya got wit'ya looks even better. Mmmmm. Why'n'cha introduce us?"
Julia performed a curtsy Chance had never seen her do before.
"Mistress Kassandra Parker, may I present Mr. Christopher Chance."
Recalling the deference shown Princess Victoria's mother, Chance made a respectful bow. "It's an honor, Mistress Parker."
"Mmmm. I like that. He's got manners. Call me Kassandra, honey. Ya make me feel old. Lissen, I'd love ta stay'n chat, but it's almost midnight an' I got a hot date waitin'." She rolled her eyes, as if anticipating something delightfully wicked. "Go get yerselves settled in the guest house. There's dinner in the 'fridge ya can re-heat if yer hungry. I'll see ya in the morning for breakfast. Seven o'clock and don't be late."
Kassandra pivoted and swivel-hipped her way to the door. When she opened it, the inside lighting silhouetted her hourglass figure through the wispy peignoir.
Julia breathed a huge sigh. "Thank the goddess you made a good impression," she said. "Otherwise, things could be sticky. Um…if she invites you to see her etchings…it might be a good idea to find a chaperone."
Chance still stood staring, bemused, at the doorway through which Kassandra had disappeared. It took a sharp jab from Julia's elbow to refocus his attention.
"Why do we call her 'Mistress'?" he asked as he helped unbuckle the straps securing the Cedric-cycle to the trailer. Although Kassandra hadn't dressed the part, the word dominatrix came to mind.
"Because she is the high priestess of the East Coast Bailiwick. All thirteen covens." Julia lowered her voice. "She even outranks Endora."
So don't piss her off, was Julia's unspoken warning.
They off-loaded Cedric, who instantly morphed into his equine form and raced off, hooves thundering. Chance carried their overnight bags into the guest cottage, the former carriage house.
In the morning over breakfast, Chance gave Kassandra a list of the items he expected to need.
"Nothin' here we can't provide," Mistress Kassandra said, perusing the list. "Now, the way it'll work, Julia transports ya to the correct year using her broom. You'll make the transition in my back yard. Everything'll be set - your equipment and transportation will be waiting. When you've acquired the device, you'll return here to transition to the present. Any questions?"
"Won't we disturb the people who lived here in 1963?" Chance asked.
"Honey, I am the people who lived here in 1963. I'll be expectin' ya."