8

CHAPTER 12

New Kensington, Pennsylvania
Saturday, August 22
1925

When they returned on Saturday, the bunker was deserted, every machine but the Tesla coil shut down and silent. Each step they took echoed as they accompanied Tesla to the far end of the bunker. After a few paces it sounded as if an invisible army marched in their wake.

The examination table and EEG had been moved closer to the Tesla coil. The coil buzzed with surplus energy, humming as if possessed by a merry goblin. Beside the coil, on a second cart, stood a device Chance and Christopher hadn't seen before.

Lefty had. "That's the matter transmitter!"

The one that left corpses scattered around the countryside.

Chance felt his flesh chill. "Oh, shit," Christopher said.

"It began as that matter transmitter," Tesla admitted. "I've made some alterations and adjustments to adapt it to our present needs." He gestured at the table. "Please have a seat."

Chance seated himself on the table and Tesla began attaching electrodes.

"So, how's it work, Nik-o?" Lefty asked. "The kindergarten version."

Tesla sighed. Chance got the distinct impression the inventor would have rolled his eyes if he didn't consider such a gesture beneath his dignity. He continued attaching electrodes as he spoke.

"The EEG will transmit the pattern produced when both Chance and Christopher are fully alert. The matter transmitter is set to collect the energy producing the pattern we wish to remove."

"Wait a minute," Christopher said. "I still want to know what'll happen to Chance once he's…removed. Where's that transmitter going to send him?"

"Into the ether whence he came," Tesla said. "The distance is set to infinity - "

"Oh no you don't," Christopher said, struggling to jump from the table. Chance yanked him back into place. "I won't have him thrown away like so much rubbish - "

"Let me finish," Tesla said, holding up one hand. "I have long been convinced the difficulty in accomplishing time travel lies in my theory that the frequency at which our atoms vibrate is what anchors us to our own place in time. When he separates from you, it is quite probable his natural vibration will draw him directly to his own time."

"And if not?" Christopher asked.

Now Tesla looked very grave. "I truly do not wish to contemplate the results. You must be absolutely certain you are willing to risk whatever transpires. You, Chance, might very well become what is commonly termed a ghost. I have no method to test the functionality. It will either work…or it will not."

"But it will leave Christopher's mind sound?" Chance asked. "It won't send part of him along with me by mistake?"

"I do not believe it will harm Christopher in any way. His mind is in harmony with his body's natural vibrations, which are in harmony with this time period. It should repel your mental energy as water repels oil."

Chance stretched out on the table. "Then we'll do it. One thing. Set the distance dial for something a little closer, like San Francisco."

"No we won't do it," Christopher said, struggling to rise. "I won't risk murdering a friend."

"I'm no friend," Chance said. "I'm a trespasser. A parasite. You said it yourself, remember?"

"Just the same."

"You'd rather spend the rest of your life with me riding around in your head? What about Althea? You think she'd stand for me looking on while the two of you - "

"Gentlemen!" Tesla interrupted, "this is no time to argue. Either we go forward, or we do not."

"Do it," Chance said, "and don't concern yourself with any consequences to me."

Only once, during their initial adjustment to each other, had Chance needed to forcibly restrain Christopher's persona. Now Christopher fought furiously, determined to seize control. Keeping Christopher's mind from reclaiming his body was like trying to hold an over-inflated beach ball under water one-handed.

"Stop fighting me, dammit," Chance said, "or so help me, I'll toss you into the ether and keep Althea for myself."

Christopher abruptly stopped struggling. "Have it your way, then."

Chance felt the matter transmitter's pull as Tesla increased power. It was as if the device were plucking threads of his consciousness one by one from Christopher's body. The transmitter's whine increased and his surroundings began to shimmer, then turn transparent. He could see through Tesla's body as the inventor studied gauges and adjusted dials. Then he could see through the bunker's walls to the surrounding grounds, the vegetation, the low hills beyond. He could feel himself seeping from Christopher's body like water sucked from a sponge.

Tesla grasped a red-handled switch and slammed it full open. The Tesla coil sprayed a great gout of plasma, silvery blue in the bunker. A tremendous crackle shattered the air. Chance was yanked free from Christopher's body and for a moment hovered like a drifting balloon above Christopher, Lefty, and Tesla. Then the matter transmitter snatched him from the bunker and hurled him into the unknown.

The Light glowed like a billion candles shimmering through a glaze of frost, a beacon in the star-filled darkness surrounding him. The same Light he remembered from the few moments after the wreck when the charge from the power cable ripped him from his body. He willed himself toward it eagerly.

"Conrad."

His old alias. A woman's voice. It stopped him like he'd struck an invisible wall.

"Katherine?"

A happy laugh. "It's me."

Chance surged toward her, caught her in his arms and crushed her to him. He marveled at how solid she felt, how warm and feminine. How delicious she tasted when he kissed her.

So it was true. You do go to the Light when you die. Your friends and loved ones meet you. He looked around for Gramps, for Christopher-04, into whose shoes he'd stepped seven years ago.

"They're not here now," Katherine said. "It's not your time yet. I was sent to help you return to your body."

He felt like she'd slapped him. "No. No, won't go back. I want to start over. I want you with me."

She laid her palm on his cheek as if to soothe the imagined slap, and shook her head.

"That isn't how it's meant to be. When it's your time, if you still want me, I'll be waiting. So will your Gramps, and Christopher-04, and anyone else who matters."

They were in a hospital room, and he hadn't even noticed how they got there. His body lay on a bed, wired to a forest of monitors, an IV drip in one arm.

"I don't even have a good crop of whiskers," Chance said, gazing at his own face. "How long since I got zapped?"

"A little over twenty-four hours."

"Twenty-four - But I was gone almost two weeks. Damn! Tesla did it! He sent me to my own time, almost to the day! Christopher! Did he survive the separation? Well, of course he did, he didn't die for another two years. Did he pull it off? Was he able to fake his death?"

No answer. He was talking to empty air. Katherine was gone.

Before his heart could begin to ache anew, he felt a peculiar tug. Guerrero had entered his hospital room, closed the door, and blocked it with a chair. What the hell?

Amazed, Chance watched Guerrero kneel at his bedside.

"So help me, dude, if you're faking this to get some R and R, or sympathy or something, you won't live long enough to tell anyone what you're about to hear." He took a deep breath and bowed his head. "Our Father who art in heaven…."

Another tug, painfully sharp. It felt like a hooked trout must feel as a fisherman reels it in. He tried to relax, let himself drift with the powerful pull. Guerrero murmured, his voice soft in the background. The monitors beeped. Then, with a sound like a cork imploding into a champagne bottle, he was sucked into his physical body.

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

(the following morning)

"It was a dream," Winston said with unshakable conviction when Chance finished telling his story.

The hospital had released Chance that morning and although it was early for lunch, he demanded pizza. They were all seated at the conference table, polishing off the last few slices from two boxes of extra large, extra cheese, extra pepperoni pizza.

"It could have been real," Chance said. "You told me I was flat-lining until I just suddenly woke up."

Ilsa shuddered. "We were so certain we'd lost you. We were so terribly worried."

"Ya were, huh?" He aimed his little boy grin directly at her and watched the color rise in her cheeks.

"A little more than twenty-four hours," Winston persisted. "Not over a week."

"If Tesla created a time machine," Ames said, "how come we're not all, like, flitting back and forth from one year to another? Why hasn't someone stopped Booth or Oswald or Hitler?"

"I'd guess Tesla never knew for sure what happened." Chance shrugged. "The matter transmitter never worked right. Once he used it to…extract me, he probably never used it again. Certainly not for the same purpose. Maybe he needed it for something else and modified it so much it never produced the same effect."

"Perhaps," Ilsa said, "he did know. And the thought of what might happen if the wrong sort of people were able to change the past terrified him. So much so he destroyed the device and never published his findings."

He used it again," Guerrero said. "In 1943. The Philadelphia experiment."

Chance was surprised Guerrero knew about the Philadelphia experiment. He referred to a disastrous attempt during World War II to teleport the destroyer U.S.S. Eldritch from the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard to Norfolk Virginia, some 200 miles away. Although the Navy never admitted the event occurred, an ever-dwindling handful of sailors who survived the experiment were still alive and swore to the truth of it.

"No…," Chance said, recalling the device Tesla had given away, "I think that might have been Lefty."

Guerrero shook his head. "No, dude, it was Tesla. Lionel Carruso died in 1932." Every head at the table swiveled. Four pairs of eyes zeroed in on Guerrero. He hunched his shoulders. "He was my great uncle. Or great-great. Whatever. He died in some kind of explosion, in 1932."

"I'll be damned," Chance murmured.

"So, was Christopher-27 able to, like, fake his death?" Ames asked. "Did Althea become a movie star? Would you recognize her? I have a book about old movie stars - Mae West, Marlene Dietrich, the really old ones."

"I'm not sure," Chance said, "but I know how to find out if they made it to California."

… … … … … … … …

Just after one A.M., Ilsa's limousine whispered to a stop a few yards beyond the De Young Museum in Golden Gate Park. The park was in darkness. A power-outage had just occurred, thanks to Guerrero's tinkering with PG & E's main computer. They had about fifteen minutes before anyone got wise to what had happened, a little longer before they figured out how to correct it.

Five passengers emerged, one of whom removed something from the trunk. The limousine glided away to linger in some obscure cul-de-sac until summoned.

Winston detached himself from the group and strolled over to a bench, ready to warn the others if someone approached. It didn't seem likely. Not only was the park blacked out, it was cold tonight.

A salt-scented breeze blew in intermittent gusts, setting park vegetation shivering. It carried swirls of fog in from the bay and dropped them on dry land to decompose. A roosting bird, disturbed by the unusual activity, uttered several protesting squawks, then fell silent as the small group continued on.

"This place reminds me of a cemetery, " Ames said, zipping her jacket. No one disagreed. "We should've brought a picnic basket," she said after a few more paces. "For, like, in case we get caught."

"Keep quiet," Guerrero said, "and no one will notice us. If you want something to carry, take this." He handed her the shovel he'd slung over one shoulder.

Chance didn't need his flashlight to find the Francis Scott Key monument. Its travertine base glowed an eerie white despite the absence of any nearby street lights. Set only a stone's throw from the museum's looming black bulk, it soared fifty feet skyward, its double arches sheltering a seated bronze statue of Francis Scott Key, and supporting a tall female figure said to represent America.

He said nothing as they halted beside the monument, his thoughts focused on the men who had borne his name before him. The silver coins - proof Christopher-27 had outwitted Fate if they were there, proof he had failed if they were not - would be cached at the south-west corner of the monument. Chance handed Ilsa the flashlight, took the shovel from Ames, and began to dig.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I was going to let the story stop here. I couldn't decide on a satisfactory ending. There were just too many possibilities and variables. It seemed better to let each reader draw his/her own conclusions as to whether CC-27 escaped his fate.

As I was about to publish this chapter with no specific ending, the spirit of CC-27 reached across time to borrow my pen and leave the following communiqué for Chance to find:

Dear Christopher Chance,

I hope this missive finds you sound of mind and safely back in your own body. It seems a bit lonesome without you always pestering me to drive the Model T.

You were right about Althea. The woman played me for a fool. She laughed in my face when I proposed. Just as well. I've heard she eloped with Tommy Jergensen and went off to Hollywood to make movies. Changed her name to Greta Garbo, or so they say. In any event, she's long gone from me life, and good riddance.

When I went to speak with Mike T_ about possibly helping me disappear, Hazel - you remember the receptionist at Pinkertons, the one you said was "hot" - overheard us plotting. She asked to be allowed to join in our little deception. A fine, sharp lass the lady is and an asset to our small company. More than that, Hazel says she will do me the honor of becoming my wife once we're settled. Lefty will join us once he and Mike have arranged for my "remains" to be identified.

We intend to follow your advice and invest in real estate. In the mean time, I've left me old name to Mike and adopted another that I'd probably best not reveal. We'll stay on in San Francisco. I've met a PI by name of Sam Spade who's looking for a new partner. He's a bit rough around the edges, but seems a decent enough sort. I'm joining up with him, at least for a time.

You've read, I suppose, of the terrible explosion that took the life of Dapper Dan Hogan. For the record, Lefty was not involved.

May the road rise to meet you; may the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face; the rains fall soft upon your fields and,
Until we meet again, May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

And may your soul rest in Heaven half an hour before the devil knows you're dead!

(signed)

Your brother,

C.

THE END

FINAL AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thank you for reading my story-or at least the final chapters. I hope if you skipped the intervening chapters you will go back now and read those, too.

I am aware the Francis Scott Key monument has been moved from where it stood in the 1920s. I chose to ignore that small discrepancy. Apart from that, I tried very hard to use buildings that existed in 1925, use historic characters who lived in 1925, and with the exception of one or two of Tesla's inventions, mention only objects actually in use in that era. The magician's device Tesla invented is borrowed from a book, later a movie, entitled The Prestige, by Christopher Priest.

The story line is based on two real murders that took place in St. Paul during its gangster years. Nina Clifford was a real person - a madam for over 40 years. Budd Manufacturing is still a going concern under a different name, and Nikola Tesla worked there for a time. Did the Philadelphia experiment Guerrero mentions happen? Conspiracy theorists believe it did.

Thank you all so very much for your many kind comments regarding this story. Most of you are excellent writers yourselves, and your approval means more to me than you could ever guess.

Scarlet Garter.