Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 52
Five Days, Twelve Hours, Ten Minutes
"Dr. Mentnor," Chloe Vandemark said, "Chief Stoddard has asked me to inform you that he has arranged for your evacuation from the White House. You're to be part of the first wave taken away from the area, sir, and he's asked that you prepare to vacate in the next thirty minutes."
The scientist continued to stare at the computer screen, ignoring the voices and activity around him. He had spoken with a member of the White House maintenance group who was supporting the efforts to re-initialize the satellite tracking system. The technician had given Mentnor specific directions on how to proceed into the massive telecommunications hub beneath the War Room, and the man had drawn out his plan. It would take him approximately twenty minutes – it was a conservative estimate – to reach the juncture that housed the bugging equipment, and he could only guess that the satellite routing equipment was there, as well. After all, what sane person would want to crawling around amongst a network of fiber optic cabling? Then again, what sane person would want to bug the White House?
"Dr. Mentnor?"
"Hmm?"
"Dr. Mentnor, are you all right?"
He glanced up at the starkly attractive dark-haired young women. He mused that she didn't have a face that belonged to politics. Hers was the kind of beauty that lit up the silver screen or was splashed across the pages of glamour magazines. Still, a change in the political climate – especially since the events of 9/11 and the 'Age of Time Travel,' as some folks at the Journals of Science had called it – has brought thousands of new patriots into the arena of ideas. He imagined that Chloe had entered public service at that time. So many of the folks involved these days had. In fact, such a massive entrance was part of what fueled the man's desire to leave BackStep: there were just too many talking heads. He didn't want to be part of the new political landscape governing the world of applied science. That, and a few too many untimely deaths ...
"I'm sorry, Miss Vandemark," he said with genuine warmth, "but I would have to say that you caught me daydreaming."
She smiled. "Well, sir, I think we're all allowed a pleasant diversion after the events of today."
"Yes. I would agree."
"I was saying that Mr. Stoddard has arranged for your evacuation of the White House, along with the remainder of what he and the President have termed 'support staff.'"
"Yes," he stated. "I thought that's what you were saying."
"You're to leave with the first wave," she repeated. "You'll be vacating the premises thirty minutes from now." Pointing in the direction of the elevator, she added, "You may head upstairs any time you like. The House staff will see that you're attended to with any needs."
"Yes, thank you very much."
He glanced back momentarily at his laptop. She noticed that he was fixating on the image there, and she wondered what could be so distracting.
"Sir, is there something bothering you?"
Turning back to her, he asked, "Miss Vandemark, can you tell me if the President has authorized for a contingency staff to remain here in the War Room?" Quietly, he poked his hands into his pockets. "Of course, I understand that such information may be classified, and I wouldn't want you to breach any oath."
She wrinkled her forehead. "Dr. Mentnor, the chief ... well ... the President believes that the White House may very well be the target of this temporal weapon." Reaching out, she placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "With all due respect, you don't want to be anywhere near here."
"I don't want to be here," he replied, "if you're talking about the War Room." Bobbing his head at the computer's flatscreen, he explained, "I'd rather go here."
Curious, she glared down at the screen. "There?"
"That's correct."
"What's down there?"
He smiled. "Science, mostly."
"Doctor, you're talking about a seventy-five yard climb down a maintenance shaft. Of all places in the White House, why would you possibly want to go down there?"
"No matter," he dismissed the subject, "but will there be a staff left behind?"
Equally dismissive, she stood upright. "Yes, sir, there will be a contingency staff. I would imagine that it will largely be comprised of volunteers, as this room will serve only as a communications relay for any future calls from Senator Pendley."
He nodded. "Thank you, Miss Vandemark." Politely, he asked, "I'm sorry, but did you say that you personally will be leading evacuation of the first wave?"
The young woman casually crossed her arms. "I will be." She cleared her throat. "Ethan has asked that I assume personal responsibility for the seeing first group fully evacuated and away from here. He's insisting on staying behind as part of the next group. He believes that the senator will call into this location before launching his next attack. As we're pretty much flying blind, so to speak, he believes that the senator may indeed release his hold for the purposes of showing the White House – firsthand – the destructive potential of his weapon."
"That's a wise conclusion by the chief." Mentnor shrugged as he continued, "Terrorists have traditionally sought to strike fear into the hearts of those they see as worthy of such punishment. If Senator Pendley believes that the sight of some new horror will be perhaps more persuasive, then I would think that he would want to show the President and his Cabinet what he's truly capable of doing ... despite the lunacy."
Nervously, she reached up and tugged at her shirt collar. "Sir, I really don't intend any disrespect to you or your colleagues, but I'm getting a really bad feeling about this. I honestly hope that you're not thinking about doing anything ... dangerous."
Mentnor reached down and switched off his laptop with a tap on the mousepad. "At my age, almost everything could be considered dangerous."
Leaning a bit closer, she whispered conspiratorially, "You know ... you and your friends with the BackStep Program have a bit of a reputation within these four walls. Of course, I'll deny I said anything, but it would appear that almost everyone associated with BackStep has a long history of behaving in a decidedly 'renegade' fashion." Winking at the man, she said, "I do seriously hope that you're not considering something that might be as foolhardy as Frank Parker would have done."
The scientist wasn't sure what to make of the comment. He paused and studied her expression. He thought there was an undercurrent of excitement to what she said, but didn't consider himself an expert on 'reading women.' Much to the contrary, Isaac Mentnor had populated his life with the pursuit of science ... mostly. He spent time dealing with theory, tinkering with a time sphere, and – in the end – fishing ... a sport requiring a healthy dose of science and luck. He remember, one time, telling Parker that that was the only things he hoped for in life: science and luck.
With an impish glint in his eye, Mentnor flatly stated, "Foolhardy? Perish the thought, Miss Vandemark."
END of Chapter 52
