Awake Page 6

  With that a small group of uniformed men walked in our direction. They were carrying rifles, and the rifles were aimed at me.

  Thomas stopped; I did as well. It seemed to be the smart thing to do.

  The armed soldiers approached. One of them reach out and shook Thomas' hand. “Agent Thomas. Glad you could bring him in personally.”

  “Think nothing of it, Major,” Thomas replied. “He's all yours.”

  The officer looked at me. “How could a man awarded the Order of Military Merit go AWOL? I knew men who served in your squadron. Good men. They didn't leave, they fought for their country and gave the ultimate sacrifice.”

  I said nothing.

  “He's all yours, major,” Thomas said. “Do what you need to do.”

  The major made a motion with his hand and three of the uniformed men came up to me; one roughly grabbed me, spun me around, and slipped something around my wrists. It wasn't the metal of handcuffs; it was something else. I had begun to struggle and as I did a sudden, painful shock shot up through my wrists and up my arms. I cried out.

  “Just stand still!” one of the officers said. “Move your hands too much and you're going to fry your brain.”

  One of the officers said, “Major, do you want the leg restraints?”

  “The wrist restraints are fine,” the major said, “at least for now. We'll see how this man cooperates.”

  Through this exchange I could see Thomas, who was smiling broadly. “Good day to you, major,” he said, and walked off. He was smirking and tipped me a wink.

  “Is the prisoner ready for transport?” the major asked.

  “Yes, sir,” the soldier who had cuffed me said.

  “Let's get him to holding.”

  We walked off, and it was pretty hard to walk and not jostle the handcuffs – or whatever they were – and not get a jolt of electricity. I managed to do so enough without fainting.

  After a few moments we reached a Humvee (popular in this world, apparently) although this Humvee was definitely the military version, complete with armor, and this one was also decked out with mounted guns.

  One of the soldiers opened the back door and climbed in; I followed, and everyone else entered the vehicle. I wasn't sure how I was going to sit down without shocking myself.

  After a few moments we sped off. The military installation we were at seemed huge, and I wondered where they were going to be taking me.

  Better still, what was I going to do?

  We continued driving for a few minutes, and then pulled into a parking lot in front of a small Quonset hut. After parking the major said, “You men stand watch. I need a few minutes with Mr. Matheson.” The other men exited the vehicle and moved to positions in the parking lot.

  The major flipped a switch on the Humvee dashboard. “This will give us some privacy,” he said. “It stands to reason Thomas has bugged you. We're jamming his signal.”

  “Why would you do that? And who are you?”

  “Ed Johnson,” he said. “You're not going to remember me, but we served together.”

  “Served together? In what?”

  “The Royal Air Force,” Johnson said.

  “I have no memory of that, Ed,” I said. “Why should I believe you?”

  Johnson nodded. “That's understandable. I have a lot to tell you and not much time to tell it. It's going to be upsetting.”

  “Everything has been upsetting,” I sighed. “Go on.”

  “We've known about the 'portal jumpers' for at least 30 years, although it's possible people were doing it long before that. Our scientists studied this phenomenon for years and finally developed the technology to create portals. They weren't really sure how people were able to do it with just their minds; they knew it had something to do with the imagination, but they've never been able to pinpoint exactly how it's done.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “I guess.”

  “But we discovered something else,” Johnson continued. “There were people who could not only open portals to travel between what we know are parallel worlds, but there were individuals who could open portals to travel through time. And as much as the researchers studied this particular aspect of jumping, it could never be replicated artificially.”

  “This world of yours sounds insane, Ed,” I said.

  He laughed. “Sure it does. Let me continue. Now, Jeff Thomas is a powerful man in this world with a lot of influential friends. About 20 years ago he tried to recruit a group of jumpers who could travel through time; you need to understand that when he was doing this time jumping had been made illegal. Of course catching someone breaking this law was difficult, so a law enforcement branch was created to deal with the time jumpers.”

  “Just like Timecop,” I mumbled.

  “Like what?” Johnson said.

  “Never mind,” I said. “It's a movie I saw once.”

  “One person Thomas tried to recruit was you,” Johnson said. “The agency that enforced violations of time jumping consisted of agents who could time jump themselves. Military officers like yourself. You were being groomed to head the agency; this was to happen after your tour in the Air Force ended.”

  “You should realize how batshit crazy this story sounds, Ed,” I said.

  “It gets better,” he said. “How Thomas found out you could time jump no one ever figured out, and your service in time enforcement was supposed to be kept top secret, so we don't know if he knew you were an agent or not.”

  “This just gets better and better,” I said.

  “After he tried to recruit you, you brought that to the attention of certain authorities, and it was decided you were too valuable to fall into Thomas' hands. You agreed to a memory wipe and to be sent to your world.”

  “What?” I exclaimed. “You have to be joking. That sounds like a horrible plan. And if I were so valuable, why would you just send me off to a different world?”

  Johnson shrugged. “It seemed the wisest course of action to get you away from Thomas. It was thought we'd be able to catch him and put him away, but it never happened, and he became more and more powerful. The decision was made to leave you where you were.”

  I tried to absorb what I was being told, and was having great difficulty in doing so. “But when I came...back here...Thomas was trying to arrest me on something he called a 'traveler enforcement act,' or something.”

  “Like I said, he has great power in this world; there is such a law, although it doesn't really cover portal jumpers, it's an immigration thing.”

  “The memories I have now...are they real? I don't even know what's real, anymore.”

  “There are side effects to the memory wipe,” Johnson said. “What you've been experiencing is a breakdown of that wipe. Different memories are coming back to you. But the memories you have are real. I'm sure it's hard to make sense of them right now.”

  “I can't make sense of anything,” I said. “What about this whole AWOL thing?”

  “Technically you are. The cover story we created was that you had gone missing in combat. Your military decorations were genuinely earned. Thomas knew he could get you with that. What he doesn't know is that it wouldn't stick because this is all considered a covert operation.”

  “Can I get my memories back?” I asked.

  “They'll come back on their own. In the meantime there's a greater issue. It's Thomas. We need to stop him. We know he's been time jumping. And we know he's committed crimes while doing so.”

  “If you know all of this, how come you just don't bring him in?”

  “We have no proof. And the time jump enforcement agency has long been disbanded. Thomas eventually recruited all of the individuals who could time jump to his side. There was so much corruption that the agency was shut down.”

  “And that's where I step in, right?” I asked.

  “Yes. You're the only one who can stop him. And Charles, we have our suspicions about one thing: he was the one responsible for the death of your wife.”

&
nbsp; “He what?” I cried. “How do you know this?”

  “He wasn't the one that carried it out, but he did make the arrangements,” Johnson said. “He knew it would hurt you as much as you hurt him.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The two of you have a history together. We all do, actually, but the two of you were very close once. He felt you betrayed him and he's been looking for a way to get back at you. The man holds a grudge.”

  “Ed, please start making sense. How do you know he's involved?”

  “Our informants say he was bragging about it. Couple of days ago, as a matter of fact.”

  “He was bragging about something he did years ago?”

  “Well, no,” Johnson said. “To his way of thinking it was just a couple of days ago. He time jumped. Or more accurately one of his men created the portal and he took advantage of it.”

  I shook my head. “But why? Just a couple of days ago? He didn't even know who I was a couple of days ago!”

  “You weren't the only one given a memory wipe,” Johnson said. “When we sent you we tried to wipe his memory of you. The procedure hadn't been perfected back then; when he saw you it must have triggered his memory of you.”

  “Something happened in the past between us so bad that he had to get...revenge? Is that what you're saying?”

  Johnson nodded. “Yes. We can't really get into it now, Charles, we...” he stopped and looked at me.

  The reason he looked at me was that my eyes had gone wide; it was as if at that moment a section of my brain had opened up, and suddenly a wave of memories and emotions flooded my mind. All at once.

  “Oh God,” I said. “I'm starting to remember. I'm remembering it all.”

  BOOK TWO

  IRAQ: 1990

  CHAPTER ONE

  As he stepped from the cockpit of his RF-188 Hornet, Major Jeff Thomas was first struck by the heat of the Iraq desert; it was a stifling dry heat, and the weather forecast was threatening temperatures of 43 degrees Celsius. The skies were clear with no breeze; the air strip simmered in the heat. It had been a long flight from the air base in Germany to their temporary command outside of Baghdad; Thomas was anxious to get to the officer's club and have a beer or two.

  His young co-pilot, fresh from flight school, looked properly awed. This was the first time he had been outside the country.

  “What do you think?” Thomas asked. “Our temporary home for the next six months or so.”

  “I never thought I'd be going to Iraq,” said his co-pilot, Lieutenant Charles Matheson. “I had hoped to stay in Germany. Somewhere else, anyway.”

  “War can change those plans,” Thomas said. “Goes with the territory.”

  “Yes, sir,” Matheson said, looking everywhere.

  Thomas pointed at a van parked at the end of the tarmac. “Let's get to our quarters. After that we can grab a beer, if you want. My treat. Oh, and Matheson?”

  “Yes?”

  “When it's just us, you can call me Jeff. You can skip that 'sir' crap.”

  Matheson looked doubtful. “If you say so, sir...uh...Jeff?”

  Thomas laughed. “Whatever you're comfortable with, Matheson. We're going to be spending a lot of time together.”

  “Yes, sir,” Matheson said.

  What a serious kid, Thomas thought. “Come on, let's get to the van.”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later they were dropped off at the makeshift BOQ barracks; the pilots stayed together, and Thomas had insisted he and Matheson share a room, even though as a senior officer he was entitled to (slightly) better accommodations.

  It was a small room, decorated in the standard military style, with gray walls and sparse furnishings: two beds, a couple of desks, some lockers, and one modern touch: a small high-definition television monitor.

  They unpacked quietly, what little belongings they had brought with them. Thomas brought out a small framed picture and set it on top of a dresser.

  Matheson walked over and looked at it. “Your family?”

  “Yeah, my wife Kathleen and our kids.”

  “Cute kids,” Matheson said. “I'd like to have kids some day.” He set the portrait back down on the dresser.

  “Oh look, AC,” Thomas said. He turned the unit on and it creaked into life. “At least it works. The enlisted men have to make do with fans. Benefits of rank.”

  “Fans in this heat?” Matheson said. “What, they don't rate AC?” he was thinking of his crew chief, a young master corporal who already had three kids at the age of 22.

  Thomas shrugged. “It's the way of the world. You should see the flag officer quarters. They rate central air conditioning.”

  Matheson sighed. “I guess it's better than nothing, although I don't see how I'm going to get any sleep in this heat.”

  “Sleep isn't going to be much of a luxury,” Thomas said. “Why, do you have troubles sleeping?”

  Matheson nodded. “Yeah, sometimes. Just lately it's been harder to fall asleep. Seems like I just can't shut down when I try to go to bed.”

  “Well, maybe a beer or two will help,” Thomas said. “You need to relax a little, Matheson.”

  “It's kind of hard to relax in the middle of a war.”

  “We'll be fine. It's not like the Saudis have the world's most powerful military force.”

  “Yeah, but they've got Iran helping them, and they have nukes.”

  “A few bombing runs and we'll wipe out their capability to launch any kind of nuclear strike. Let's go grab a beer.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Matheson said, “although I've never had a beer before.”

  Thomas laughed. “Time to bust your beer cherry, then.”

  * * *

  The base was shared with the Iraqi military, and as such there wasn't already a place to get drinks; a makeshift officer's club had been set up in a Quonset hut.

  Thomas and Matheson arrived to a building that was bustling with activity; many of the men there were fellow pilots (and not a few women, either). Country music was blasting loudly from a stereo system.

  The bar was staffed by Iraqi civilians; Thomas purchased a pitcher of beer and he and Matheson found an empty table to sit down at.

  Thomas poured two pints; he handed a glass to Matheson, who sniffed it doubtfully. Thomas raised his own glass. “Cheers,” he said. “To your first beer.”

  “Thanks,” Matheson said. He took a sip of the beer. After a moment he set the glass down. “This is horrible,” he said. “I can't even say what it tastes like, but it tastes like crap.”

  Thomas laughed. “You'll get used to it. After your first pitcher it'll taste fine.”

  “I'm not sure I can get through an entire pitcher, much less this glass.”

  “You'll be fine. Get some water.”

  Matheson did just that. He returned a few minutes later with a pitcher of water. He poured a glass and took a drink. “Much better,” he said.

  “I think my first beer was when I was 19,” Thomas said. “I had a similar reaction. I think everyone does.”

  “It's pretty bad,” Matheson said, glancing around. “Lots of people seem to like it, though.”

  “I suppose as a pilot it's not really that great an idea to get much of a taste for it,” Thomas said. “But it seems to be the way most people let off steam.”

  They drank in silence for a few minutes; Matheson had gotten up to get a soda. He returned, took a drink, and said, “Can I tell you something?”

  Thomas nodded. “Sure. What?”

  “It's going to sound insane.”

  “I've been around the block a few times,” Thomas said. “Trust me, I've heard a lot of crazy shit in my time.”

  “I don't think you've heard anything like this,” Matheson said. “You're going to think I'm on drugs.”

  “What is it?”

  “Something has been happening,” Matheson said slowly. “Something incredible.”

  “Oh?”

  “I can't really e
ven describe it. I'd have to show you.”

  “You can show me, here?”

  Matheson shook his head. “Not here. It would be a pretty bad idea to do it here.”

  “'Do' it?” Thomas asked.

  “Let's go outside,” Matheson said. “I can show you there.”

  “Fine,” Thomas said; they stood up and headed outside.

  Matheson looked around, and then pointed to the rear of the Quonset hut. “Back there. It'll just take a second.”

  Behind the Quonset hut was a small shaded area near a fence. It looked like an area where people came to smoke cigarettes, but for the time there was no one else there.

  “It's back here?” Thomas asked, glancing around.

  “It will be, in a minute,” Matheson said. “Just watch.”

  Thomas said; Matheson closed his eyes. After a few moments Thomas heard a noise, an odd crinkling sound, which reminded Thomas of the cereal he ate as a kid.

  Suddenly, the light took on an odd shimmering quality, and before his eyes, Thomas noticed that there seemed to be some kind of...portal. He could see through this bizarre shimmering piece of reality; through it he thought he recognized the air base in Germany.

  “What the hell is this?” Thomas said.

  “I don't know,” Matheson said. “I think it...goes somewhere. If I think of something hard enough, this happens,” he said, indicating the portal.

  “That looks like the base in Germany through it.”

  “It is,” Matheson said.

  Thomas looked at the portal. “How long does it...stay open?”

  “It'll close by itself in a few moments. At least that's what has happened before.”

  “Does this really lead somewhere?”

  “It does.”

  “Do you mean I could walk through it and come out in Germany?”

  “Yeah,” Matheson said. “But there's more.”

  “What?”

  “Not only can it open to another place, but it can open up to a different time.”

  “To a different time?” Thomas exclaimed. “How do you know this?”