December 27th 2012
The winter snow had settled on the streets of the village of Newtown Common in Hampshire, England. With the morning sky clear and bright, the neighbourhood resembled a picture out of a Christmas card, where local children were having snowball fights in the streets. It was a time of joy, a time to be with one's family. And such was the order of the day in the McEwen residence on the outskirts of the village.
In the attic bedroom, a boy in his early teens stretched and yawned as he woke up to another joyful day of his Christmas break. School had closed a week ago, and since then he had been the freedom of staying up late at night, as well as sleeping in late in the mornings as he pleased. Although his mother had firmly insisted he dedicate a minimum of two hours a day on his Christmas homework, as well as to do his share of chores, Jamie was enjoying his Christmas holiday - and not only because of his break from school, or his presents, or even his mother's superb Christmas cooking, but because he had the rare advantage of celebrating Christmas two-fold every year. As it was, Christmas coincided with his birthday; and today was his thirteenth birthday! Feeling excited, he hurried out of bed to dress.
James Quinton McEwen Jr, who went by the nickname of Jamie, as not to be confused with his father's namesake, had been living in Newtown all his life. With limited contact with city life, Jamie was a country boy at heart, accustomed to the freedom of the countryside. His mother, Josie was the town's veterinarian, who run her infirmary and animal hotel in their home. As a result, the family often had many temporary house pets, either staying the night for a final check-up or sometimes simply looked in their busy owners' absence from town. The exception was Jamie's dog, Snitter, a fox terrier that they had adopted as a puppy after its previous owner, a neighbour, had died in a car accident leaving it to be carted off to the pound.
Jamie's father was a withdrawn Royal Air Force pilot, a former war veteran, who now flew the helicopter for the local Search and Rescue squadron stationed at the local disused Royal Air Force Base outside Newbury. Only called to work during drills or on actual rescue missions which rarely occurred in these parts, James McEwen Sr. would spend his time either helping out his wife with her animal care, or spend time with his son, taking him on camping trips, teaching him military survival skills, and even teaching him to fly. Despite his father's small income, his mother's job, which was one of the most important ones in town, kept the family reasonably well off. In short, Jamie was part of a whole and happy family.
Putting on his shoes, he hurried downstairs, where he was greeted by Snitter, who stood up on his hind legs to lick his young master in the face. Giving his dog a pat, Jamie walked into the kitchen, where he was engulfed in a warm hug by his waiting mother, "Happy Birthday, Jamie!"
"Come on tiger, look smart," said his father, slapping his son playfully on the shoulder, "It isn't everyday one turns thirteen you know!" Smiling at her son's embarrassment, Josie ushered him over to the table, where a large birthday breakfast, complete with a chocolate cake decorated with thirteen burning candles, awaited. Jamie wasted no time; taking a deep breath, he blew out his candles, while his parents cheered. His father was about to light a cigar – a lifelong habit for celebrating special occasions – but his mother gave him a reproachful glare.
"No smoking in this house, James! Especially when we are about to eat!" Jamie chuckled as his father sulkily took the soggy cigar out of his mouth and tucked it back into his pocket.
After a king-sized breakfast, came the best part of Jamie's birthday party; the opening of his presents. The boy whistled aloud as he unwrapped his first gift, from his mother; a brand-new Blackberry cell phone, complete with all features, fell out of its wrapper. The second gift, from his father, was more interesting; it was a multi-tool Swiss Army knife, consisting of several different blades, scissors, magnifying glass, flint, bottle-opener, screwdriver, and even a compass, complete with a golden crest bearing Jamie's initials, "Cool! Thanks Mum, Dad." His mother smiled.
"You're welcome sweetheart."
"And it isn't all," continued his father, presenting him with yet another wrapped present, "Your Grandpa Mike sent you this." Mike McEwen, James' father, a long-retired fighter pilot, run a small second-hand-charity bookshop in the neighbouring village of Whitchurch, adding some more money to his meagre military pension, "I figured it would go nicely with your knife." Jamie tore open the wrapping, which contained a pocket copy of the SAS Survival Guide, one of the finest survival guides on the market.
"And…" he father continued, "I also have a little extra treat for you." Josie looked at her husband, "James, you'll spoil him rotten!" Ignoring his wife, James said, "Remember Tom is having his aircraft serviced? Well, I received a call from him this morning, asking for someone to bring it back from Greenham and I volunteered, on the condition that we get a free flying lesson. You up for it, son?"
An hour later, Jamie and his father were on their way to Greenham Common Royal Air Force Base, on the outskirts of Newbury. Originally an American overseas missile launch station during the Cold War, the disused base now operated mostly as a backup Air Force training site, as well as the local Search and Rescue.
Parking his motorcycle in the small parking lot on the edge of the field, James and his son made their way towards one of the few of the derelict buildings on the base still in use. The room on the ground floor was just as shabby as the exterior of the building, filled with antique World War II furnishings, yet held an air of comfort, with a small bar and a pilots' lounge, all of which were decorated with a collection of pilot's gadgets, photographs and aircraft models mounted on the walls, recording the history of the many different eras the airstrip had seen. An old spiral staircase with a 'no admittance' sign hanging on a chain at the bottom, led up to the control tower on the roof.
The Air Force Rescue crew were in the lounge, drinking coffee and playing pool, on standby for any alert. As they noticed McEwen enter, they all stood at attention to salute him, "Major, sir!"
"Lieutenant Pilot Smith, Air Medic Harrison, Air Mechanic Stacy, gentlemen!" McEwen acknowledged, gracefully returning the salute, as was his custom from his 15-year long career in the Royal Air Forces, "Carry on!" The men returned to their business as McEwen and Jamie entered the base officer's office. McEwen stood at attention and saluted the grisly-haired Wing Commander, who had been stationed at Greenham for years, even after the base had fallen into disuse.
After filling in the standard protocol paperwork, bearing the Wing Commander' authorisation to transport the glider back to Sutch and Martin's, McEwen was dismissed, and headed outside with his son, towards the hangers on the far side of the field.
Aside from the yellow Sea King Commando helicopter used by McEwen's Search and Rescue squadron, the old airfield hangers were all empty and ruinous, unused for years. The two-seat Schleicher motor glider stood under one of the few undamaged hangers, where it had been stored temporarily by the base aircraft mechanic who had serviced it, waiting to be flown to the flight club from where it belonged. McEwen stared at the plywood-and-plexiglass aircraft in wonder.
"Now this what I call a real lady of the skies. Sure beats the hell out of the Nimbus model I used to fly with your Grandpa when I was your age. Still, gliders are the only aircraft that don't really age. With all that fancy technology aeronautical engineers throw at us nowadays, flying is becoming child's play…"
"Think we'll ever be able to ever afford one, Dad?" asked Jamie, who always enjoyed flying and was hoping to become a pilot when he grew up, "Have our own glider I mean?" Although gliders were pricey and with the economic crisis caused by the war of 2009, such a purchase would logically be unthinkable, James, who loved flying as much as his son, smiled.
"Perhaps. But we must be patient. Stan Hallows has been telling me his boss plans to sell it; I hear his flight club will be closing down when the Council sets up the new outfit here at Greenham... Anyway, I bargained for a price and we settled on £25,000; I agreed to pay it in monthly instalments over the next four years. He says we can start using it as ours when I've finished paying the first £18,000. If all goes well, it will be your 17th birthday present. That will also give you enough time for me to train you properly to fly it."
Jamie couldn't believe his ears! His ambition was to become a true pilot and now his father had seized the opportunity to make it possible for him to take the first big step. He turned and hugged his father, who hugged him back, "Thanks Dad. You truly are the best!" McEwen smiled, "I know, son. So, captain, are you ready for our pre-flight check?"
Half an hour later, both father and son were airborne, with Jamie manning the controls on the front seat, with his father supervising his flying lesson in the back. Over the past year, McEwen had given his son several flying lessons on the glider, whenever he could afford it, who was quickly shaping out to be a good flyer. Following his father's instructions over the headset, Jamie practised different manoeuvres and aerobatics.
James watched with a deep sense of pride his son, a natural at flying, handle the glider splendidly. But when it came to simulating a dangerous rolling manoeuvre, by turning the glider upside-down for a mock emergency bailout, a crosswind hit them, almost sending the inverted glider into a stall, and forcing McEwen to take the controls and level them out. With the wind kicking up, McEwen cut the lesson short and set course for Sutch and Martin's Flight Club.
The small flight club was situated on the edge of Sandleford National Park, not too far from Greenham. Founded by two World War II aviators, after which it was named, in the early 1960's, originally it had been an auxiliary airstrip during the Blitz, eventually abandoned, before it had been bought and restored as a private flight club. After the original owners had sold the business several years ago, the club had eventually come into the hands of Tom Shelton. Although, for some time, Shelton had managed the business well, his luck was quickly running out lately.
With the vast airstrip of the old Greenham base handed over to the civilian sector, the Newbury Council had proposed the idea of restoring it as a new flight club, placing Tom Shelton on the brink of ruin. With a new, bigger outfit emerging, his little club was about to lose all its clients.
Run by only four people, including Shelton and an assistant as flight controllers, old Toot-toot, the aircraft mechanic and Julio Andre, the club's pilot and instructor, and with only two aircraft, including the glider James trained his son on, the club was now a crummy business, practically worthless. The Council had plans of converting the premises into a trailer park for campers once the new club at Greenham opened, which would ultimately put poor Tom Shelton out of business.
While Jamie handled the approach on his first solo, his father handled the radio, requesting permission to land, "SAM Control, this is Glider-1, do you copy, over?"
"Yes Major, we read you," came the voice of Stan Hallows, the assistant flight controller, currently manning the radio in the shack, "Enter circling pattern and hold your current position; you are number two, following take-off of the Cessna." Instructing Jamie to follow a temporary circling pattern while they awaited clearance to land, father and son watched as the Cessna Skylark on the ground sped along the grassy runway for takeoff. As soon as it was airborne, heading southwest towards New Forest, Hallows signalled the glider was clear to land; once again, with McEwen ready to take over should things get out of hand, Jamie followed his father's instructions, taking the glider down through a reasonably smooth landing.
"Well done, Jamie," McEwen said as he helped his son out of his parachute pack, while Hallows and Tom Shelton pushed the glider into its hanger nearby, "Now you're a real pro!"
As James went inside to return the parachutes for storage, Jamie walked over to Tom, "Excuse me, sir, where can I find Kenny?" Shelton, who was busy covering the glider with its nylon rain covers, turned to glare at him as if he were something unpleasant on the bottom of his shoe, "He's home doing his chores, if you must know. He'll be free tomorrow."
Kenneth 'Kenny' Shelton was Tom's only son and Jamie's closest friend. However, in contrast to Jamie, Kenny's life wasn't remotely as happy. His mother had passed away when he was still a baby; his father, bitter and hateful, resented him and even mistreated him at times. Although he never went far enough to have the law on him, the lack of affection created a constantly growing void between father and son. Combined with Tom's escalating bad habits of gambling and drinking, due to his failing business, which was pushing the family on the brink of bankrupsy, their home environment was one of short-temperedness and neglect. Jamie's parents had often tried to persuade Kenny to help them build a case to have him removed from his abusive father's care, but the proud teen, preferring to fight his own battle alone, had insisted that as long as he kept out of his father's way, he was fine.
Although Jamie hated Tom Shelton with a passion, he was real close to his son. The two of them would always be seen together, whether at school, over weekends, or during holiday breaks. Jamie's parents often invited Kenny over to stay, or taking him out with them on daytrips, which Kenny would gladly accept, eager to get away from the endless chores his authoritarian, semi-abusive father would throw at him.
It was well past three o'clock when McEwen's motorcycle pulled into the driveway of the McEwen home, an Elizabethan-era style redbrick cottage, commonly found in these parts of England. A disused greenhouse adjacent to the house, built by the previous owner, housed the kennels for the sick animals that came into Josie's care. There were no flowerbeds or vegetable patches in the garden, consisting merely of bare, trimmed lawns on either side of the garden path. A brass sundial mounted on a marble pedestal, which McEwen had erected the day he had moved in with his newly wed wife and their newborn son thirteen years ago, stood in the centre of the lawn.
"Mum, we're home!" Jamie called as he and his father walked along the garden path and up to the porch. They were half-expecting Josie to be in the kitchen, waiting to chastise them for missing lunch again; instead, they found her sitting before the television, looking dreadfully upset. McEwen walked over to his wife and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, "Honey, whatever is the matter?"
"There has been an accident," she said, pointing at the television, where a newsman was speaking.
"…At 12:35 today, a chartered Cessna was reported missing shortly after entering the restricted New Forest dead zone, with sudden and completely inexplicable loss of both radio and radar communication. Ground and satellite searches for the missing plane have so far turned out unsuccessful. Onboard the ill-fated aircraft were Dr Alan Johnson, former professor of the Royal London University, accompanied by his colleague and close friend Dr Derek Shaw, and pilot Julio Andre. Dr Johnson, 34, who has reportedly been battling depression following the tragic deaths of his wife Mary and his daughter Lucy last year, was a virtual recluse and alcoholic, prone to mental breakdown. Whispered speculations question whether or not Johnson himself might actually be the mastermind behind this mysterious accident…"
Josie switched off the television and fled from the room, her husband following her upstairs to comfort her. Jamie stood dumbstruck, realising that this missing plane was, in fact, the very same one they had seen take off from the flight club that very morning. Thinking back, he could vaguely remember hearing on the news about that man Johnson's family being murdered last year; his mother had been quite upset back then too, yet she had never explained why. What was this Johnson guy to his mother? Why was she distressed with the misfortunes of a complete stranger whom she had apparently never met in her life?
Later that night, James and Josie lay together in bed. Josie had been upset all evening, hardly saying a word, in spite of her bewildered husband's attempts to comfort her. As she sniffled miserably into her pillow, James whispered into her ear, "You can't keep it bottled up forever, honey. It would do you a lot of good if you told me what this is all about."
"What's the use, James? You didn't even know him…" She instantly fell silent, realising she had said more than what she had intended. McEwen seemed to realise that too, as he turned to her, "So you did know this Johnson fellow from somewhere?" Realising she had no way out, Josie turned to face her husband with the truth.
"I first met Alan Johnson at St Mary's Orphanage in London, where I grew up as a child after my parents died." With her husband listening patiently, Josie told him her story.
"Alan and his friends – Derek Shaw also being one of them – were my childhood friends for years. When we were teenagers, Alan and I…well, we found our first love in each other. When Alan applied for a degree in zoology at Aberdeen University, I chose Liverpool, as it offered a better degree in animal medicine… Anyway, we rarely saw each other for the next few years, until I finally grew tired of waiting and walked out on him, something for which I've always felt ashamed of… I later learned he had started dating a fellow student, who eventually became his wife and the mother of his daughter. And I met you."
McEwen smiled at the memory; he had grown up in Liverpool and had been about to enter the Royal Air Force Training Corps at the time, following in his father's footsteps, when he had first met Josie Clayton. Starting out as friends, their friendship had soon blossomed into romance. Then, just when Josie had graduated and James had qualified as a Royal Air Force pilot, she had found she was pregnant with his child. Not willing to have an abortion, they had decided to marry and start a family. James had given up his career as a full-time fighter pilot, and, with his Captain father's help, had transferred to the Search and Rescue in Greenham as squadron leader, which allowed him a decent salary and enough time to be with his family.
"I've always felt I had done him wrong by walking out of him. For years, I've wanted to tell him how sorry I was. I guess I waited too long…" James gently took her hand.
"Honey, maybe it isn't my place to say this, but I understand how you feel. Shortly before I met you, I too had a girlfriend with whom I was crazy in love; then, one day, she walked out on me for no reason. Now, she's married to my former high school nemesis, with three children. This is all part of life. You said yourself that this friend of yours was more dedicated to his work and that he was to you. Nobody is at fault here, least of all you; both of you did the right thing by moving on. It's just the shock of seeing someone you once cared about to go out like this; but it's all a thing of the past. Now we are happily married, we have our son, our home…"
"I'm sorry James. I've become foolish," said Josie, looking slightly more cheerful, relieved that her husband held no grudge that she had secretly been harbouring feelings for someone whom she hadn't seen in years, one who was now dead nonetheless, "Thank you for understanding."
"Anytime, love, anytime," James said with a smile as he pulled his wife close to kiss her…
Within the privacy of his own bedroom, Jamie lay in bed, playing with his new cell phone, flowing his favourite songs, games and applications on it. But in the back of his mind, he kept wondering, why did today's accident have such an impact on his mother? Based on what little he had heard about this Professor Johnson character, this fellow sounded like a complete wanker, another every-day loser who wasn't worth their time. And why wouldn't she tell him or Dad what was troubling her about him? Finally, tired of his thoughts, he switched off the lights and drifted off to sleep, lost into strange dreams of Alan Johnson and giant talking rabbits...
By next morning, everything was back to normal; the family sat down to breakfast as usual and then began their day. As McEwen was on his Christmas leave, he decided to spend it with his son at home. Aside from being an Air Force pilot, the head of the McEwen family was an amateur electronics enthusiast and liked to make things out of scrap. A corner of the garage had been converted into a small workshop for that purpose; that was where he and his son would spend hours toying around with electronic junk, inventing all sorts of interesting gadgets out of old electronics they'd fish out of the rubbish.
They were busy working on constructing a working spark-gap transmitter, when Josie suddenly appeared at the door, "James, phone call!" Setting aside the circuit welder he had been working with, James hurried over to take his call, "Hallo, James McEwen speaking. Yes, Commander?"
"It's from Greenham," he told his family after he had hung up, "Sheriff Fowler has decided to conduct a final aerial search for Johnson's plane over New Forest. We fly in half an hour."
"Oh Dad, can I come too?" asked Jamie, eager to see a real search and rescue mission up close. But his father shook his head sadly, "Sorry, son; you know regulations strictly forbid us to take on observers." Dashing upstairs to change into his flight uniform, he hurried to the door. Turning to kiss his wife, he whispered in her ear, "Don't worry, honey; if Johnson is still alive, we'll find him." Grabbing his flight helmet, he bid his family goodbye, "See you all in a little while!" and was gone.
With nothing else to do, Jamie decided to go out and spend the day with Kenny. After promising his mother he would be back by lunchtime, and giving her his new cell number in case she needed to contact him, he set off on his bicycle and made for their usual meeting place: Newtown Common Churchyard, on the outskirts of town, along the road to Newbury.
The old church, built in 1865 on the site of the original medieval chapel, dating back to the town's founding in the early 13th century, was surrounded by a graveyard, now scarcely used. With several ancient pine trees and a neat lawn, the graveyard served as the boys' playground, where they'd play football, set off firecrackers on Bonfire day, among other fun times. As Jamie approached the churchyard on his bike, he saw his best friend on his own rickety bicycle by the gate, expecting him.
Kenny Shelton was a scrawny-looking boy of fourteen, rather skinny for his age, with unkempt hair, yet a very loyal friend of Jamie's. In contrast to his reasonably well-off friend, Kenny's attire consisted of baggy, frayed hand-me-downs from his father, which were the only clothes he had to wear, Tom Shelton only providing little more than enough for his son to survive, attend school, and stay out of his hair. His birthday presents consisted mostly of fresh hand-me-downs and permission to spend extra time with his friend. Discipline was strict at home and Kenny was often made to do longer and far more difficult chores than Jamie ever did. He had no cell phone, no watch, or any other prized belongings, and no pocket money either. Even his bicycle was a shabby, second-hand gift from Jamie - a dream present, given his miserable life. However, despite his deprived life with his authoritarian and stingy father, Kenny still found everything he really wanted through his friendship with Jamie.
"Hey dude, how goes it?" Jamie asked, giving Kenny a high-five, which his friend returned. "Fine, all things considered. Unless you count my arsehole of a Dad making me hoover the house inside out yesterday, so that I could be here today. I have a good mind to let his truck tyres down…"
"Good enough, because it's your turn to plan today's adventure. Any thoughts, mate?" An 'adventure' often involved getting into mischief, like exploring the abandoned, off-limits warehouses and silk mills in the area, or sometimes even pranking people, the most frequent victim being Kenny's father. In order for both of them to come up with ideas for their adventures, they had developed a system, where each would take turns to find a worthwhile pursuit. Today was Kenny's.
"I have just the thing, man," Ken replied with an evil smile, "Remember what I have been telling you about my father leaving home all the time, to meet someone in secret?" During the past few months, Shelton Sr. had developed a strange habit of leaving home without explanation, to some unknown place. Once, Ken had built up to courage to ask his father where he was going, who had replied, to the tax department, trying to sort out their financial issues, followed by a reproachful warning to Ken to mind his own business if he knew what was good for him.
Tom would often leave early in the morning and not return until late in the evening and sometimes until the next day, leaving his son his usual list of chores for the day, as well as an occasional reminder of the stupid rules he was expected to follow in his absence. These included not stealing food, other than what his father would leave him for the day, not to touch any of his possessions, and not to leave the house until after he had finished his chores. Not surprisingly, this was a welcome change for Ken, who'd have free reign of the house for a while, enjoying those periods of freedom from his father's miserable company. Jamie looked on with interest at his friend's smug smile, "Well, I think I finally found out where he is going!"
After outlining his plan to Jamie, the two friends set off on their bicycles, heading for the neighbouring village of Overton. On the outskirts of that village, close to Cole Henley, was a handsome manor called Buxton Hall, the home of wealthy industrialist Joseph Buxton. The property, an abandoned early 20th century tin mine site, had once been the Buxton family's cash machine, until the last of the ore had been depleted. The Buxtons had then left the country for years, until old Joseph, the only surviving descendant, had returned from Russia, having made a new fortune abroad, and built his home on the site. The mine on the estate was supposedly being currently restored as a tourist attraction, but remained strictly off-limits.
The property, some two square miles in circumference, was surrounded by a high, electric fence with hazard warning signs, making any trespassing impossible. The elegant manor beyond, completely isolated from the prying eyes and ears from the outside world, no doubt was a perfect hiding place for secret, skunk work - which, unbeknownst to Jamie or Kenny, was exactly what was going on and worse. Hiding their bicycles behind some trees on the edge of the road, the boys crept along the perimeter of the fence, up to a spot where they had a good view of the house.
"Dad has been coming to this place all this time. He hasn't been to the casino, or the pub, or the flight club, or even the tax department in London. I have been observing him through the window with binoculars; he had been seeing that old fatso Buxton and a bunch of nasty-looking bozos. Each time they meet, they are always careful never to discuss anything outside; once, I overheard someone at the gate talking about something called Project Black Inferno nearing completion, and the guy next to him punched him in the face to shut him up before he could say more. I have also overheard Dad talking about the same thing over that secure line he had installed in our home last year. I am telling you, man, they are up to no good!"
"I see your point, mate," Jamie said, trying to make heads or tails out of his friend's mumbling, "Have you heard anything else?"
"You bet I have," said Ken smugly, "For the past few days, I have been eavesdropping on my father whenever he was using that private line of his. The topic of his discussion with whoever is on the other end, has always been about that guy who disappeared yesterday, Alan Johnson. That other guy Shaw too, as well as someone else - Robbins I think his name was - were also mentioned frequently, but I couldn't understand exactly what was being said about them. Something about wanting to trap them, because they knew something... I don't know. My father would only talk briefly, almost as if he feared someone might actually be eavesdropping!"
Jamie felt more perplexed than ever; first this bloke Johnson apparently has some strange connection to his mother, and now his name pops up in Tom Shelton's secret meetings with Buxton and his men. What was all this about? It made no sense. What did they want with Johnson? Perhaps his disappearance was no accident?
Before he could formulate some sort of deduction however, he heard his BlackBerry vibrate in his pocket with an incoming call. It was his mother, calling him. He checked his watch, Strange, it's still quite early. Is Dad back already? he thought as he answered the phone, "Hallo, Mum?"
"Jamie, wherever you are or whatever you're doing, I need you to come back home right now. Something has happened. No questions now, sweetheart; just get back here and fast!" Her voice sounded desperate, almost tearful. Jamie frowned; what was going on? Explaining to Ken he was expected home at once, the boys returned to their bicycles and rode back to Newtown as fast as they could. Bidding Ken goodbye, promising to meet him again tomorrow, so they could go spying on the Buxton estate again, he hurried up the garden path, to the front door.
As he strode into the parlour, he was surprised to find his mother sitting in an armchair, weeping. Sitting in the chair opposite her was none other than Constable Jim Fowler, the local sheriff, who wore a frown on his face. Jamie felt his insides curl up; had someone seen him and Ken spying on the Buxton Estate and reported them to the police? However, that was not to be the case, as his distraught mother finally found her voice and explained, through her tears.
"Jamie, it's Dad. He…he has been killed..."
Jamie's fear of the consequences of having been caught trespassing was instantly replaced with cold horror, as Fowler explained that Major McEwen's chopper had vanished without a trace, apparently by the same cause that had made Alan Johnson's Cessna disappear the other day.
Author's note: For those of you who are confused, this part of the story is written in parallel to the first book, and this is when McEwen got thrown through the time portal and vanished into the future. If you spot any continuity errors to the first, please point them out. Enjoy and please REVIEW!